A coworker was having a bad day yesterday (actually she was having a bad past couple of weeks), so I did what any normal person would do and offered to take her out for ice cream. She hesitantly accepted (I'm not sure the cause of hesitation but rest assured, it didn't bother me).
So, after work she got in her car and me in mine and I followed her to the designated gelato shop (she's too good for the run of the mill ice cream (read "high maintenance")). When we arrived in the parking lot and got out of our cars she was on her cell phone which proved confusing when we realized the gelato shop was closed and we needed to discuss where to go next.
Undeterred, she motioned for me to follow her as we both got into our respective rides. We traveled up the street a couple of blocks until she starting waving and pointing hysterically as she drifted into the left turn lane. It was then that I saw the reason for her excitement. A small sign at the entrance of the parking lot read, "Custom Made Ice-Cream" and if that doesn't get you excited then you better check your pulse.
So, into Ice-Pan we go wondering exactly what qualifies their ice-cream as "custom." I casually stroll up to the counter and politely ask the high school girls, "What exactly makes your ice-cream custom?" Their answer was practically incomprehensible. It was a jumbled mess of pauses, giggles, incorrect inflections, and blank stares (read "they seemed to be on drugs"). Surprisingly, however, I was able to gather the vital information about this amazing establishment:
Step 1: Pick a flavor of ice cream (they have many...but not 31).
Step 2: Pick your milk (whole, low fat, skim, soy)
Step 3: Pick your mix-ins (stuff they crush and mix into your ice cream...hence the name)
Step 4: Pick your toppings (stuff they put on top of your ice cream...hence the name)
Step 5: Pick your size (they have 2...shouldn't be too difficult to decide)
Once the order has been placed, the magic happens. The stoned workers mix up your custom ice cream mix and turn on the magically ice pans. Once the mix is properly blended the master steps in to turn your dream into a reality. He is a quiet, polite man who graciously takes the mixtures of cream and sugar and spreads them evenly over the ice pans. Almost instantly ice cream starts to form. He starts to scrap and fold the thin layer into a thicker layer and eventually into a soft scoop. The scoop then gets flattened and your mix-ins are crushed and ... mixed in. The glorious hunk of creamy flavor is then gathered into a modestly sized cup and topped with your ... toppings. The entire process is then finished with a warm smile from the master himself as he hands over his creation. That's when you are granted permission to eat your new found ice cream.
We were both thoroughly enjoying our ice cream. I think I finished mine in record time and sat there waiting for my friend to finish hers. Good company, good conversation, and great ice cream were quickly interrupted when she discovered a long blond hair as a bonus mix in. She sat there disgusted and dumbfounded and I probably mirrored that same expression. Eventually, of course, she presented the "hairy" evidence to the high schoolers on drugs and they, of course, made her a new one. When she held the second sundae in her hand I couldn't help but feel amazingly jealous. She went home that night half disgusted and half excited about the bonus ice cream. I went home that night trying to figure out how I might score a bonus scoop next time I go to Ice Pan.
Til Next Time
P.S. I returned to Ice Pan the next night...I did not figure out a way to get a free scoop.
States: 27
Countries: 8
This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:
I went to get gelato.
It was closed.
I went to Ice Pan
They make frozen magic there.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Abbreviations ...Or Abbr.
If you enjoy pop culture then you probably have an impression of what Southern California (So. Cal to the locals) is like. There is the glitz and the glamor of Hollywood, the beautiful beaches with beautiful people, and the super violent crime of South Central. While some of this may be true, the one thing that I've noticed more than anything about So. Cal is that people here love to abbreviate.
Some of these abbreviations are warranted. For example, Pacific Coast Highway is a mouthful and I could see how saying "PCH" could streamline a conversation. Plus, PCH has a nice ring to it. It almost begs to be said. The same can not be said about "BH," which is the common abbreviation of Beverly Hills. To me it just seems ridiculous. Beverly Hills itself has a better more inviting sound than the sluggish "BH." In this "LOL, OMG" world in which we now live, I'd put money that those shortcuts originated here in Los Angeles county.
I didn't surprise me then when I took a field trip to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and I saw that it was shortened to LACMA. What did surprise me was the common practice of not only using the acronym of the museum but that the acronym was then pronounced as a word (i.e. Lack-Ma). Furthermore, the new Broad Comtempory Art Museum on the LACMA campus is shortened to BCAM and then pronounced "Bee-Cam." Why not "The Broad?" That's got a good ring to it.
All I'm saying is, "PICK A SIDE PEOPLE!"
If you make an acronym try to stick to it as an acronym (unless it actually makes a word that has relevance to its subject (i.e. D.A.R.E. or M.A.D.D). If you can't stick to the acronym, try shortening it to a word or two that gets the idea across. I'm all about efficiency, but I also enjoy crisp clear communication...call me old fashioned.
Perhaps I'm making too much of this but its my refusal to use such shortcuts that make it quite obvious that I am not in "the know."
TNT
Post Script: In honor of this entries subject matter, I took the opportunity to keep it short.
States: 26
Countries: 8
This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:
So. Cal. people like to abbreviate.
I don't really like to abbreviate.
Sometimes they pronounce the abbreviations as words.
Pick a side people!
Some of these abbreviations are warranted. For example, Pacific Coast Highway is a mouthful and I could see how saying "PCH" could streamline a conversation. Plus, PCH has a nice ring to it. It almost begs to be said. The same can not be said about "BH," which is the common abbreviation of Beverly Hills. To me it just seems ridiculous. Beverly Hills itself has a better more inviting sound than the sluggish "BH." In this "LOL, OMG" world in which we now live, I'd put money that those shortcuts originated here in Los Angeles county.
I didn't surprise me then when I took a field trip to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and I saw that it was shortened to LACMA. What did surprise me was the common practice of not only using the acronym of the museum but that the acronym was then pronounced as a word (i.e. Lack-Ma). Furthermore, the new Broad Comtempory Art Museum on the LACMA campus is shortened to BCAM and then pronounced "Bee-Cam." Why not "The Broad?" That's got a good ring to it.
All I'm saying is, "PICK A SIDE PEOPLE!"
If you make an acronym try to stick to it as an acronym (unless it actually makes a word that has relevance to its subject (i.e. D.A.R.E. or M.A.D.D). If you can't stick to the acronym, try shortening it to a word or two that gets the idea across. I'm all about efficiency, but I also enjoy crisp clear communication...call me old fashioned.
Perhaps I'm making too much of this but its my refusal to use such shortcuts that make it quite obvious that I am not in "the know."
TNT
Post Script: In honor of this entries subject matter, I took the opportunity to keep it short.
States: 26
Countries: 8
This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:
So. Cal. people like to abbreviate.
I don't really like to abbreviate.
Sometimes they pronounce the abbreviations as words.
Pick a side people!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Surprise!...Someone Gave Me Something!
First, let me say this: I told myself when I started this blog that I would never blog about blogging. As you can tell for the previous sentence, I am breaking that rule. No, I'm not going to rant about blogs, bloggers, or blog readers. No, I'm not going to say I've run out of things to write about. No, I'm not going to do either of those things. All I'm going to do is acknowledge that I've fallen a bit behind on the blog this past week. I have no excuses. I have let you down, dear reader. I am sorry. Please forgive me and continue to read in the future. I like when you read my blog. I makes me feel interesting and sometimes cool (only sometimes). I will do my darnedest to never let this web log fall behind again. That being said, I have a quick story to share:
Not too long ago I returned home from work, took my shoes and pants off, turned on the TV, and plopped on the couch. Almost immediately I realized I had to run to the store (for what, I can not remember). So, I slowly rose from the cushions, put my shoes and pants back on (not necessarily in that order) and drove out into the Californian unknown.
My experience at the store was uneventful so I won't bore you with those details. Something interesting did happen upon my return home, so I will bore you with those details.
By this time in the evening the sun was well on its way to setting. I believe the correct term for such times is "dusk." The streets were dark and full of shadows but as I pulled into my parking lot I noticed a beaming white object hanging on my door.
As I parked my car I realized that it was a plastic grocery bag not unlike the ones sitting in my trunk. I put my car in park and removed the keys. I sat there wondering who could have placed this mystery bag on my door in the 20 minutes I had been gone and further more, what was in it? A mystery indeed.
I popped my trunk, slowly exited my vehicle, and cautiously grabbed the 4 plastic grocery bags containing my recent purchases. As I drew closer to the mystery bag my heart raced. The white plastic mocked my every step begging me to come closer. As I reached my door I didn't blow up. I consider that a small victory, but my palms began to sweat as I inched my right hand towards it. I grabbed one of its two handles and slid it off of my door handle. I pulled the bag wide open and hesitantly peered inside. To my amazement I found 4 items all belonging to a recognizable set. This bag, that someone felt compelled to leave on my doorstep held 3 dry erase markers and a corresponding dry erase eraser. I considered this a major victory. Now I need to by a dry erase board and I'll be set.
Til Next Time
P.S. I went to another Hollywood party this past weekend. I scared plenty with my dancing.
States: 26
Countries: 8
This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:
I'm sorry for not writing.
I took off my shoes and pants.
I ran errands.
Someone left a mystery package on my door.
I didn't blow up.
Not too long ago I returned home from work, took my shoes and pants off, turned on the TV, and plopped on the couch. Almost immediately I realized I had to run to the store (for what, I can not remember). So, I slowly rose from the cushions, put my shoes and pants back on (not necessarily in that order) and drove out into the Californian unknown.
My experience at the store was uneventful so I won't bore you with those details. Something interesting did happen upon my return home, so I will bore you with those details.
By this time in the evening the sun was well on its way to setting. I believe the correct term for such times is "dusk." The streets were dark and full of shadows but as I pulled into my parking lot I noticed a beaming white object hanging on my door.
As I parked my car I realized that it was a plastic grocery bag not unlike the ones sitting in my trunk. I put my car in park and removed the keys. I sat there wondering who could have placed this mystery bag on my door in the 20 minutes I had been gone and further more, what was in it? A mystery indeed.
I popped my trunk, slowly exited my vehicle, and cautiously grabbed the 4 plastic grocery bags containing my recent purchases. As I drew closer to the mystery bag my heart raced. The white plastic mocked my every step begging me to come closer. As I reached my door I didn't blow up. I consider that a small victory, but my palms began to sweat as I inched my right hand towards it. I grabbed one of its two handles and slid it off of my door handle. I pulled the bag wide open and hesitantly peered inside. To my amazement I found 4 items all belonging to a recognizable set. This bag, that someone felt compelled to leave on my doorstep held 3 dry erase markers and a corresponding dry erase eraser. I considered this a major victory. Now I need to by a dry erase board and I'll be set.
Til Next Time
P.S. I went to another Hollywood party this past weekend. I scared plenty with my dancing.
States: 26
Countries: 8
This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:
I'm sorry for not writing.
I took off my shoes and pants.
I ran errands.
Someone left a mystery package on my door.
I didn't blow up.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Don't Believe Everything You Read...Unless it is a Clearly Posted Warning
This past weekend a couple of friends came to visit from Chicago. They flew in on Thursday night and left on Sunday afternoon which gave us practically 3 days for activities. It might be interesting to you then that my favorite part of the weekend involved a shady novelty store along the "Walk of Fame" and a certain loose rodent.
I'm not sure exactly what this store sold but it is a safe bet that it was 1 of 3 things: electronics, vintage clothing, or drag queen attire (at least that's what I took it to be). I do know, however, that there was a squirrel inside this particular store. Why? Because on the door there was a sign held on by a solitary piece of scotch tape with the following written in black marker:
"Squirrel in store!"
Notice the exclamation point. This store owner was not only telling/warning you about the loose squirrel in their store, they were screaming it from the mountain tops!
This sign on the door is where my knowledge of the subject stops, but it raises a few questions for me. First, was this a prank? If so, was it the owner of this store that put up the sign or was it the owner of the store across the street that tried to dissuade patrons from that store into their own? Secondly, if it wasn't a prank, why not call animal control or make some other attempt to let the animal free (i.e. trail of popcorn)? Lastly, at what point do you give up trying to get the squirrel out of your store and say, "Eh, just put a sign up," as to try and limit liability when somebody contracts rabies while searching for that perfect vintage jacket? These questions and countless others go unanswered.
Regardless, we didn't enter the store, but one of my friends did mention the possibility that it could be a caged squirrel on exhibit and the sign was to attract costumers not detract costumers. Yes, that is certainly a possibility but I have to imagine that if you can afford a squirrel exhibit, you can afford a better sign to advertise such things.
Til Next Time
P.S. Happy Cinco De Mayo! I had taquitos for lunch.
States: 26
Countries: 8
This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:
I had visitors from Chicago.
There was a squirrel in a store.
A sign told me so.
I don't know why.
I'm not sure exactly what this store sold but it is a safe bet that it was 1 of 3 things: electronics, vintage clothing, or drag queen attire (at least that's what I took it to be). I do know, however, that there was a squirrel inside this particular store. Why? Because on the door there was a sign held on by a solitary piece of scotch tape with the following written in black marker:
"Squirrel in store!"
Notice the exclamation point. This store owner was not only telling/warning you about the loose squirrel in their store, they were screaming it from the mountain tops!
This sign on the door is where my knowledge of the subject stops, but it raises a few questions for me. First, was this a prank? If so, was it the owner of this store that put up the sign or was it the owner of the store across the street that tried to dissuade patrons from that store into their own? Secondly, if it wasn't a prank, why not call animal control or make some other attempt to let the animal free (i.e. trail of popcorn)? Lastly, at what point do you give up trying to get the squirrel out of your store and say, "Eh, just put a sign up," as to try and limit liability when somebody contracts rabies while searching for that perfect vintage jacket? These questions and countless others go unanswered.
Regardless, we didn't enter the store, but one of my friends did mention the possibility that it could be a caged squirrel on exhibit and the sign was to attract costumers not detract costumers. Yes, that is certainly a possibility but I have to imagine that if you can afford a squirrel exhibit, you can afford a better sign to advertise such things.
Til Next Time
P.S. Happy Cinco De Mayo! I had taquitos for lunch.
States: 26
Countries: 8
This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:
I had visitors from Chicago.
There was a squirrel in a store.
A sign told me so.
I don't know why.
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