My First Bris

Actually, it’s my second, if you count my own. Uh, oh. I’ve said too much. Yes, I’m circumcised. I don’t believe I had a bris though. I mean I believe the doctor snipped me, I just don’t think there was a deli-bration afterward. In true form, I arrived half-hour early to find that the valet was set up. Now this is my kind of party. I got inside and greeted Nate, the Dad, who pointed me towards the massive bowl of guacamole. One of the fringe benefits of owning an avocado farm is an endless supply of guacamole. After scooping up several pounds of green fat (that’s the good fat), other guests began to arrive. It was all quite festive and Nate’s Mom has an ideal home for entertaining. I’m gonna skip past the socializing and go straight to the cutting.

The urologist/Moyle introduced the ceremony and gave a few words. There were also test questions like can you do a bris on Yom Kippur? I said, “Perhaps,” while the correct answer is yes. Nate’s Brother, Ben and his wife, Robin, brought out the little pisher and handed him to his Mom, Claudia. Sitting at the table in front of a pillow was Nate’s Grandfather. Once Leo was laid placed on the pillow, it was his Grandfather’s job to hog tie him. As a kid if you move your head while getting a hair cut the worst you could lose is an ear, so holding down lil’ Leo is a big job. Ben served as the anesthesiologist by dipping gauze into a cup of Manischewitz and placing it in Leo’s mouth. Personally, I would want a funnel. The doctor got out his tools and proceeded to circumcise. I would go into detail but I couldn’t see everything that was happening on account that I was in the corner crying. Actually, there was a cover over the child which prevented me from having a bird’s eye view, which in the end was fine with me. Through it all, I ducked into the kitchen to picked at the deli plate. Yes, I am a stress eater. The snipping was done. The crowd shouted, “Mazel Tov.” Leo wailed until the alcohol poisoning and shock sent him into a deep sleep. I continued to eat, had a couple of shots of whiskey, and was on my way.

Georgia Rule Continued

I just caught this article on The Onion's avclub.com. Scott Tobias talks about Georgia Rule. I find it odd that I saw this film last night on cable over a year after it came out. (Link here.)

The Cost of Saving Money

I spend too much money. It's not as bad as it used to be. Since I went back to school a few years ago, I've tried to cut my expenses as much as possible. Nothing drastic like down grading my toilet paper. My butt loves it some Kleenex Cottonelle. I did get rid of my superior phone service, Verizon, for a far more ghetto one, Sprint. My phone bill is half what it used to be although I only hear a quarter of what people say. A big cut that I made is my cable bill. I got rid of all my movie channels, except for HBO, and all but one of my digital tiers. I'm saving about 50 bucks a month, but last night I realized the cost. Having a DVR means never having to watch a commercial again. With the exception of sporting events and news, I avoid commercials like the plague. So when there was a paucity of programs to watch, I turned to HBO On Demand. There it was, Georgia Rule. I remember reading bad things, but how bad could it be. Believe me, it is horrible.

I'm not one of those bitter screenwriters who sees a bad film and says, "My stuff's better than that shit!" Getting a film made isn't easy. The fact that any get made is a miracle. But when a film that could be described as a dramedy/comedy/sit-com about child molestation/incest, I have to stop and think who was the wizard who thought that was a good idea. Also, I have to wonder how Jane Fonda and Felicity Huffman, two solid actors, Fonda having had quite a career, would agree to do such a thing. I don't question LiLo's choice. I'm a huge fan of Freaky Friday, but I'm guessing she'll be doing soft core porn next. The film couldn't end soon enough. Luckily, there was an episode of 30 Days saved on my DVR.

I know a handful of people, usually actors and writers, who abhor reality TV. I figures that as long as you're entertaining then you're doing a good job. (Note to makers of Georgia Rule.) I caught an excellent episode of 30 Days last night. For those who don't know what it is, it's created by Morgan Spurlock, who made Super Size Me. In this episode, a Mormon from Fullerton, who is against gays adopting, went to live with a same sex couple who have adopted four kids. Of course, the men are the greatest parents on earth. Taking kids out of the hell which is foster care automatically guarantees them a spot behind Heaven's velvet rope. I highly recommend this episode, if you can catch it.

By the way, I've reserved a new website address called www.whitepeopleihate.com. I was gonna start off with our current President, but if I can get it up and running, Kati from 30 Days will inaugurate it. I'll keep you posted.

Subway and Sales Tax

I had lunch at Subway, today, twice. There was my post-workout 11 ayem lunch, then my 2 p.m. post-lunch lunch. The 5 dollar foot-long sub is one of the last great deals around. I guess when it started most of the subs were 5 bucks. Now they have a list of about 8 different subs that cost 5 dollars. They're all approximately a 20% savings, except for the Veggie Delite, which costs about 5% more. I'm not sure why they bone you for not putting meat in your sandwich. Perhaps the owners are Chinese and look down upon those who don't harm animals for their meals. I've only been a handful of times since they've started this outrageous deal. If I go, it's usually after the gym in the mid to late morning. If you show up between noon and 1, it looks like a mid-80's bread line in downtown Vladivostok.

The first time I went, I ordered a foot-long turkey on whole wheat. I figure if it's good enough for that formerly obese, cunt Jared, it's good enough for me. When I paid, the total was exactly 5 dollars. No sales tax. I love that. I'm really into round numbers when it comes to transactions involving currency. I, also, love receiving quarters, as change. The Pavillions on Lincoln gives me dimes and nickels. I've stopped shopping there, but that's a whole other post. Today, my first foot-long cost $5.41. It's still a good value but I don't know why they added the tax. (I wasn't gonna ask because my Spanish doesn't extend past telling someone to go fuck a donkey, and I know 200 ways to call someone a homosexual. It's a great language.) I know at Coffee, Bean, and Tea Leaf, the scourge of the coffee world, they charge sales tax if you order something for in the store but if it's to-go, then there's no tax. Even though I can't stand "The Bean" as some call it, at least they have a code. And if there's one thing I've learned in life is that you've got to have a code.

I arrived for my second foot of sandwich. The line wasn't too long. I got the same chicken breast sandwich, which I can't believe is an actual breast. (I'm guessing Subway found a chicken breeder who created a chicken with a narrow six inch breast. Very impressive.) I got said sandwich twice because it's the only one on the 6 grams of fat or less that isn't marked up. When I got to the cashier, the teenager in front of me had a 5 dollar sub, too. (The ham and cheese for those keeping score at home.) His total was 5 dollars, no cents. Awesome. I was next. My total: $5.41. I didn't freak out. I took a deep breath and said in my best Spanish, "Chinga un burro, maricon!" It didn't solve the issue of the sales tax, but I felt so much better.

The 300 Billion Dollar Bailout

The headline on the Drudge Report says that the mortgage bailout has passed the senate. (Article here.) Can somebody please tell me why people who felt that they were making a fail safe investment in real estate get bailed out? What about renters? Where's our bailout? What if I can't pay my rent and get kicked out? Will the government help me? Housing is a funny thing. During the run up of the present bubble, everyone seemed to be talking about all the money they were making buying property. But housing isn't liquid. It's not like buying a stock, where after you sell it, cash goes into your account. As a friend of mine explained, once a person sells their house, they usually buy a more expensive house. It's not until the purchasing cycle stops, and you rent or downsize, that cash will appear. There is an exception, the unthinkable, the impossible. What if the price of your home goes down while monthly payments go up? As everybody knows, that's what's happening now. I understand there's a small group of people who refinanced under bad advice and I feel that those people should be allowed to get their old loans back while those who received the fees for bilking them should go to jail. But there are many people who felt it was their right to make a poor investment because they couldn't lose. And you know what? The government may say it's okay. The article states that the houses of congress are divided on what the loan limits should be (Senate - $625,00 House - $730,00.) What?! Are you shitting me? For those who bought homes at those prices, which are actually pretty high outside of Los Angeles, go fuck yourselves. Learn your lesson and move on. I hope President Bush vetoes this bill or else people may never learn.

300 Million

John McCain put a 300 million dollar bounty on the head of automotive battery technology. According to the AP, "McCain said such a device should deliver power at 30 percent of current costs and have 'the size, capacity, cost and power to leapfrog the commercially available plug-in hybrids or electric cars.'" (Link here.) As shown in "Who Killed The Electric Car?", the government swung from electric to hydrogen fuel cell and now it appears back to electric vehicles. I feel that McCain's prize is an excellent idea, but in a free-market, capitalist economy, wouldn't someone develop the best battery possible? And why 300 million? I guess one dollar per American sounds like a nice round number. If it comes to fruition, then great, but if technology has shown us anything, that if there is a need it will be filled. Why waste government money doing this? Oh, yeah, to cover up the fact that he now supports off-shore oil drilling.

Benjamins

I don't know what it was, but on Saturday night I received more hundred dollar bills than I ever have in a shift. Usually the dominant denomination is the twenty, of course, but it seemed like ATMs were spitting out hundreds by the way they were coming my way. It turned out to be a great night. It didn't seem that way at first. First of all, it was super hot. I was sweating like a pedophile on a playground. The night started out super slow, but I guess it picked up. When it's hot and slow, time refuses to move forward. Some bartenders refuse to look at the time on the register, while others keep checking it. I fall somewhere in the middle. Bartending is a lot like Vegas, there's really no good marker for the passage of time. You look at the time and it's 12:30. You bang out dozens of drinks and you think your shift is almost done, so you look at the clock and it reads 12:32. At that point my heart sinks to the Jaeger drenched floor. But, eventually, you get to ring that bell. It can be the most cathartic moment in the world. I once swung so hard that I broke off the clapper. I was afraid that last call would never come. I love my job but I figure purgatory is where my shift never ends. It's just hoardes of douche bags clamoring for jaeger bombs. I guess there are worse versions of hell.

The Best Things in Life Are Free

I'm not sure who coined that phrase, but I presume they were speaking of love or non-prostitutional sex. I doubt they were talking about bluetooth headsets. I read online how LG would be giving out 1000 free bluetooth headsets at the Peterson Automotive Museum at 11:30 Thursday, as part of the ban on driving while on the phone coming July 1st. I figured that since I occasionally make phone calls while driving, and have the chance to look like a total douche bag (or Borg) with a permanent ear piece jammed into the side of my head, I would check it out. Since this was a journey to the east side, I made sure I had enough water and reading materials. I took the freeway to Fairfax. Now one of my problems with heading east is that even if the freeway isn't busy, the streets I need to exit are bumper to bumper. So here I am in the Little Ethiopian parking lot, Fairfax between Pico and Olympic, baking in the sun. I got out my sunblock and squeezed out a fair amount. Now trying to drive while applying sunscreen to my sweaty, bearded face without getting it in my eyes is no easy task. So here I am driving through the Addis Ababa of Los Angeles, looking like an albino with a Santa Claus beard. It was good times.

I got to the museum and saw the line of the semi-employed, which wasn't too big. I parked and started counting the number of people, as I walked to my spot at the end. I got to about 30 and realized there wasn't 1000 people so I stopped counting. The two women in front of me in line were traffic officers from Beverly Hills. Luckily, there weren't any auto-fatalities in the 90210 while my new friends were on their hour long, fifteen minute break. It was a glorious moment when the line started moving. At the front, we were given wrist bands and led inside up to the second floor. In the parking lot, where the temperature was somewhere in the high 80s, a press conference had been set up with special guest Erik Estrada. I stood in front of one of the three tables. Underneath, I saw that there were paper bags. I knew I was in the right place. Eventually, Ponch showed up and proclaimed this event, Red, White, and Bluetooth, as officially under way. That's when I felt the pushing and the shoving; but, thank god, I was in the front. I grabbed my bag, turned, and swam upstream. Excluding driving time, the whole thing took about 45 minutes out of my life. I figure I saved 40 bucks, give or take. Starting July 1st, I will be in compliance with the law and have the added benefit of looking like a total douche bag.

The Other Side of the Bar Addendum

I found out last night that the adventures of Sir Locked Drunkworthy continued after I had left. After seeing Sex and the City again, whose beginning I liked far more than the first time, Dad and I went to Copley's to butch up and watch the Laker game. It was here that we were apprised of the new capers. It turns out that the woman with the toilet seat cover was told many times by one of the owners about her bio-degradable, paper tail. Apparently, her response was to nod and smile. She's either a deaf bartender like myself or maybe she thought it would bring her good luck. In any case, she high-tailed it out of the restaurant before we did. When we were leaving, Sir Locked's party was sat and eventually ordered. Lord Drunkworthy shared the lamb chops, which, as I was told, he devoured. While scraping lamb bits and enamel from the plate, Sir Locked complained that he didn't like it. The restaurant told him that they would be happy to make him another. As important as this inebriated, landed gentry was, he felt it necessary to walk back into the kitchen and shout out one final order, "Don't spit in my food." To which the diminutive, French waiter replied, "We don't do that here." I was told that the lord of the manor mumbled something about reading that somewhere. I'm guessing at Oxford or Cambridge. The clan Drunkworthy left, but made one final phone call. The Lord explained that his friend with the tail never made it home and he asked someone if they could look outside and see if she passed out in the parking lot. Never a dull moment when you're in the presence of the alcoholic aristocracy. By the way, I had a delicious meal which I almost threw up after watching my childhood heroes get ignominiously sodomized by a real basketball team. As much as I hate to say it, the Lakers were boys playing a man's game. Guess we'll have to wait until next year.

The Other Side of the Bar

I'm in Palm Springs for Father's Day. Yesterday, Dad and I sat at the bar at Copley's, a spectacular restaurant, ate dinner, and watched the Lakers win. Except for the occasional couple waiting for a table, we had the bar to ourselves. Around the 3rd quarter, a party of 7 walked in without a reservation. They seemed nice enough. One of the ladies ordered a glass of white zinfandel and a side of ice, while grandma had a glass of merlot with a splash of sprite and a couple of ice cubes. I don't know where they're from but I'm guessing I won't be seeing them in my superfitbod class at Equinox. The alpha dog of the party, we'll call him Sir Locked Drunkworthy, ordered a tanqueray up. He seemed nice enough and was into the game. Then it happened. I don't know when since I was staring at the TV, but at some point Sir Locked Drunkworthy turned the corner. You know which corner I'm talking about. The one at the intersection of hammered and wasted. We're in the 4th quarter and every few minutes Sir Locked would ask about the score and time remaining. I would always update him and he would respond, "That's a lot of time." Their table was ready and a couple of the ladies sat down. One of them had a toilet seat cover sticking out of the back of her pants. I was about to say something but it would require getting off my bar stool and walking 8 feet, and, since, I clocked out 18 hours ago, my work was done. Not much time was left when my inebriated friend made a comment which his party quickly silenced. I personally missed it. Then with about 30 seconds left in the game, the lord of the Drunkworthy manor mentioned, "Still a lot of time left." I finally said, "For what?" He replied, "The Lakers." I wanted to throttle him and explain we're up by 4, we don't need any more time, we need less. With a fresh absolut and cranberry, Sir Locked Drunkworthy got mean. He made a comment about the woman in his party with the toilet seat cover in her crack. It went something like, "She's got toilet paper sticking out of her ass. Jesus Christ!" I wanted to tell him that it was a toilet seat cover, but I figured it's lost on him. The woman left the restaurant and Sir Locked mumbled something about how she's a grown up and can find her way home. I remember a t-shirt that read, "Instant Asshole: Just Add Alcohol." I may have to google Sir Locked Drunkworthy and get him one of these.

Douche Bag

I'm really glad this pejorative has returned to our lexicon. As a bartender, it really sums up a certain type of customer. I even purchased business cards which are black on one side and read, "You are a douche!" on the other. I haven't used them, yet. Today's douche bag let's call him Larry. He's a former employee, who worked security next door. He claims to be a cop and was hired by the previous promoter to keep the peace; although, I know at times he caused more problems than he solved.

At the end of the night, Larry would go through the break, the night's empty bottles, and pour any remnants into a glass and drink it. Later in the evening, he would come into my sacred space and beg for half a shot of jaegermeister. The thing is, this douche bag isn't even a drinker. He's just some dude who takes pride in being able to mooch a quarter of a gill of booze after hours. The problem with my place of employment is that too many things are accepted for reasons unbeknownst to anyone, not even the owners. Larry hanging around after hours is one of those issues. I got particularly annoyed on Friday when a few of us were enjoying a post-work beverage. We were talking about people who can cover songs better than originals. That's when this douche bag chimed in with, "Weird Al Yankovic." Silence befell our small party as one of the bouncers, a music aficionado, fell away in disgust. I didn't know it at the time but I had enough.

Saturday night we finished work. As my colleagues were settling in for their happy hour, I was scrambling to get my car out of the lot so I could drive to Palm Springs for Father's Day. After working for 10 hours dealing with douche bags, I'm not the most congenial person. So when Larry walked in and asked for a half a shot of Jaeger, I just felt like getting in his grill, I didn't care that he's odd and a bit unstable and carries a gun, "What are you doing here? You don't work here. You're some kind of cop, you say." He replied, "You don't believe I'm a cop?" He reached deep down into his pocket and pulled out his badge. He flipped it open and handed it to me. That's when I read, "Los Angeles Unified School District Police Officer." "You work for L.A. Unified?" "Yeah, I deal with gangs." I believe during the years of the Little Rascals, they were called truant officers. I walked away. Fucking douche bag!

One in an occasional series.

About Last Night

Whenever I tell my friend, Julie, about a film I saw, the first question she invariably asks, "Is there rape in it?" It's become a joke between us as in, "No. Kung Fu Panda does not have rape in it." "You'll love Finding Nemo, especially The Rape!" I find it ironic that Julie is a Boston Celtics fan because last night was a game of two rapes. From tip-off through the third quarter, the Celtics looked like Jody Foster on a pinball machine, while the rest of the game, the Lakers looked like Ned Beatty squealing like a pig. I thoroughly enjoyed the former, while I could not comprehend the latter. I saw the game at Megan and David's and a few minutes after it was over I was still in shock. I couldn't believe what took place before my eyes. How did they blow a 24 point lead? Why did they go away from the game that got them the lead? Why do they play so tentatively while everything around them is going to shit? No team has ever come back from being down 3 games to 1, but if the Lakers can play for 6 halves like they did in the first half last night, it might happen.

Prior to watching the game, I got a voice mail from Liza asking if I had seen Top Chef. Somehow, in my pot induced stupor, I forgot that Wednesday night was the season finale. I was concerned about her message. My fear was that Lisa, a contestant I don't like, won. In fact, while watching the show I was convinced of this. Luckily, my little teddy bear of a chef, Stephanie, won. Although I don't know if she cooked a better meal, she was definitely the Top Chef. Thank God for reality TV, my night wasn't a total waste.

Not a Gateway Drug For Long

According to the Associated Press, marijuana potency is at an all time high. (Link here.) It's nice to know while the prices of some goods are skyrocketing, while providing the exact same product (oil, gas, food), and other prices go up, while the quality plummets (film, film, film), some of us are still getting a far better bang for the buck. If this keeps up we'll hopefully see marijuana lose it's status as a "gateway drug." Nothing would make me more proud.

The Mole

Does anybody watch this show? I've watched two episodes and have no idea what is going on. I understand that one person is trying to ruin it for everyone else, but how do they determine who gets booted off at the end? Also, is it possible that the Mole will get booted off early? If anyone can answer these questions, please leave them in the comment section.

Gillen and Turk

Last night, Matt Turk, a friend of my friend David's, was in town playing with his band mate, Fred Gillen. When I got the e-mail a few weeks ago, going out on a Tuesday night for a 10 p.m. show seemed like a good idea. No, I wasn't high at the time. Then came the NBA playoffs whose schedule revolves strictly around days that I don't work, not important. But the idea of watching the game then heading across town seemed like a lost cause. Luckily, my friend David invited me over to watch the game, then at halftime we would have dinner at the Newsroom where there are televisions.

As you know, when I travel across town, I like to bring a pack and some supplies. So when I showed up for lunch wearing jeans, Tim was pretty surprised. (For those who don't know, I have two uniforms: work and non-work. The former are black dickies, shirt and pants, and the latter is cargo shorts and t-shirt, usually white.) After my two gallon bowl of ramen, I headed over to Century City mall to see The Strangers. I was taken aback by how crowded the parking lot was in the mall. (Note to self, no one in Los Angeles actually works.) I found a spot, bought a ticket, and was scared senseless. The Strangers is about a couple who, following a wedding, head to the guy's family home in the middle of nowhere and are terrorized by people in masks. It was super unsettling and makes me want to live in a city.

I arrived at David and Megan's and watched the Lakers take a first half lead on their beautiful 60" screen. When we got to the Newsroom, I had to squint to watch the Lakers blow their lead on a 13" screen. The Lakers eventually won, which goes to show that I'd rather watch the Lakers win on a small screen than lose in person. By the way, I ordered super poorly. I don't know what I was thinking. I chose the mixed vegetables and couscous. For some reason, I forgot all my lessons from Morocco: 1) Don't order couscous. 2) Don't order tagine. Instead, I got the large bowl of grains with cooked carrots, and some squash and zuchinni. One more thing, I hate cooked carrots. Hey, the Lakers won, I would've been happy eating spam with cream sauce.

We headed over to Genghis Cohen. When we arrived, a guy sat on stage serenading 5 people. You see, I don't go to live music much. I always expect it to suck. Two exceptions: 1) I will travel as far as the valley to see Julie Silver. 2) When I take a break to pee at work, there's usually live music going on. That's the extent of it. So when Matt and Fred took the stage and launched into their first song, I was floored. They are both tremendous players with amazing voices. Their harmonies made them sound so much bigger than a duet at a chinese restaurant. At the end, I told them that if all live music was this good, I would go out far more. Check out their website, listen to their tunes, and buy a CD if you want to support two terrific musicians.

www.gillenandturk.com

This Post is a Test

I'm sitting at Asahi Ramen waiting for Tim. I just wanted to test out blogging from my Treo. A few thoughts:
1) How do tomatoes get salmonella? I have no idea but I will take a pass until they figure it out.
2) Which Laker team will show up tonight? Will it be the team who went down 24 or the team who clawed back? I hope it's the latter.
3) The new IPhone makes me more envious of the product, but I doubt the 3G will be as fast as users expect. In any case, I'm waiting for at least a 64 gb version.

For My Mac Friends

I was never one of those Mac people. You know the ones who constantly rave about Apple products. Even after I bought an IMac and IBook, I was still just a Mac user. It took about six months, but now I'm one of those people. Most Mac users use Safari as their web browser. I'm a big fan of Safari but I've found lately that the spinning rainbow beach ball has appeared more times and for longer than it should. And if you're like me, you want your porn now. This weekend I installed Firefox 3. There are a couple of things about it that I like less, but I find that it's far faster and seems to be more stable. If you're happy with Safari, then stick with it, but if you're looking for something new, click on Firefox 3.

The Price of a Delegate

I'm a big fan of the quote by Oscar Wilde, "A cynic knows the price of everything and the value of nothing." Call me a cynic but click on the following link to see how much Clinton spent per delegate. (Link here.)

The Living Room Theater

Yesterday I went with a friend to see an amazing film called Reprise at the Landmark Theatres. This film happened to be playing in their living room theater. This room consists mostly of love seats but has a few single seats and at least on three person couch. It was such a pleasure to sit in this theater. I can't recommend it enough. Back to the film, Reprise, from Norway, is one of the best pictures I've seen in a long time. Joachim Trier, the director and co-writer, will become a household name. His visual style is stunning. Reprise is a coming of age story about two life long friends and authors who submit their manuscripts at the same time. The subsequent tale shows what happens to each of these young writers. At times, the story telling is non-linear, which was difficult to follow, none the less, provides a super kinetic film. Please see it.

You Know How I Know I'm Gay

It's not because I saw Sex and the City last night.  I watched the TV show religiously and loved it.  It's not because I started out hating the film and by the end, I loved it so much that I forgot why I hated the beginning.  It's because at the end during the reading of the page 6 wedding announcement, there was a joke that ended with "The bride will wear Manolos," that I laughed harder and longer than any straight man should.

I was dreading seeing this film.  I remember first seeing the trailer and thinking how old they all looked and inconsequential everything seemed.  I said to my friends before the movie started that I only hoped it didn't suck.  When the film started and I heard Fergie singing a new theme song, as opposed to, the original TV version my worst fears were confirmed.  In fact, I just looked up the name of Fergie's song and it's called "Labels or Love."  This is the biggest problem with the film.  Carrie Bradshaw was always a fashion icon who had a shoe shopping problem, but in the film version her voice over states, "Women come to New York for the two "L's" labels and love."  This vapid statement irritated me to no end.  Luckily, the one liners pulled me out of my funk and about an hour into film it picked up steam.  What I loved about the film is that there is serious emotion involved.  The TV show was about single women living in the big city, while the film looks at what happens when these women are no longer single.  There are issues of personal identity, trust, and fulfillment.  I don't know if men who have never seen the TV show would like it.  Unfortunately, it's not like the X-Files movie.  I never watched the show but loved watching the film and it was told well enough that I didn't need to be brought up to speed.  For those who loved the show I can't recommend this film enough.  In fact, I would love to hear what everyone thought.  Please leave me a comment especially if you didn't like it.  I'm gonna have to see it again.  I can hear it now.  "You know how I know you're gay..."

Do You Suffer Fools Gladly?

I rarely do, but today was different.  Today I had to vote.  Don't be alarmed quadrennial voters, it's not November, yet.  I just needed to put my two cents in on a rent control proposition.  Basically, they'll have to pry my rent controlled lease from my cold dead hands.  In any case, getting to my polling place couldn't be easier, I only have to walk across the street.  So I threw on my robe and my voting Birkenstocks and traipsed eastward.  The polling place is in a retirement home, which doesn't float my boat, because getting old freaks me out, but convenience is convenience.  There were two people in front of me in line and I figure it would go quickly.  Boy was I wrong.  I have nothing against hiring the retarded but this guy just wasn't too bright.  He has a book with all of our names and tabs on the right side with the letters of the alphabet.  The deal is that you give him your name.  He looks you up.  He tells the person next to him your address, then you sign your name, and receive your ballot.  The person in front of me was a hyphenate.  The first last name she gave was Wheeler.  When the fool with the book turned to the "S" section and turned page by page, I wanted to reach across and turn the "W" tab.  He eventually got there but she was listed under her maiden name.  That was a whole other issue.  Finally, it was my turn.

I told him my last name, "Garber."  The fool waded through the "I's" until he settled on "G."  I saw that my apartment was wrong.  It said, "304" not "309."  I wanted to correct him but I didn't feel that his grey matter could handle it.  I voted.  Turned to leave, then thought, "What about my little Obama?"  I had to correct my address issue before November.  Although my calendar was pretty open, I figured that now was a good time.  I told him the issue and the woman who seemed to be the ring leader, she did give out the "I Voted" stickers, told the fool what to do.  It appears I wasn't the first with this problem but it still had to be explained.  He wrote as "reason" that I had moved.  I told him that it had been 14 years, so I'm guessing it was a typo.  He wrote that too.  I don't believe that he filled the form out properly but, hey, I did my part.  Hopefully, this will be resolved for the next election.

As I write this I feel that maybe this guy was somehow impaired, which makes me feel bad.  He didn't seem "special" or "handicapable."  He was wearing his sunglasses indoors, which makes me feel that maybe he was too cool to be "special" but too dumb be working the polling place.  

For the six or so of you who'll read this I would love to hear about how you do or don't suffer fools. 

Wake Me When It's Over

After four hours of seeing the headline, "Paper: Clinton in negotiations for Obama to help pay off her debts..." on The Drudge Report, I was finally able to access the article.  (Link here.)  I'd hate to believe that Hillary Clinton ran an expensive campaign, using eleven millions dollars of her own money, that she couldn't afford.    According to Reuters, the Clinton campaign is twenty million in the hole and she probably wants to get her own scratch back.  (Link here.)  I guess she's got Obama by the short and curlies.  If he wants her support, he may have to pony up.  I'm a big fan of personal responsibility.  So I figure if you and your husband have made one hundred million dollars in the past decade or so, then you should pay for your poorly run campaign.  My feelings for Hillary Clinton go from apathy to disdain, so I'm somewhat surprised how much she is loved by so many.  Today I saw on CNN, how her supporters were on the verge of tears because of Michigan and Florida's delegate seating.  Clinton seemed to be in favor of the DNC's rules concerning the states in question and now she wants to move the goal posts.  I can only wait until she not only concedes but puts her support behind Obama.  I want to like her, I really do, but she makes it so hard.  Wake me when it's over.