Open Mic

It's time for another Open Mic session. Any requests? Is there something you're just itching for me to blog on? (Don't worry, the doctor says the burning sensation is completely normal. A little topical ointment should do the trick.) All three of you better speak up now, or you'll have to wait another month or longer. ;0)

Big Red Phone

Something somewhere must say that if it's Friday and you're retarded, it's time to pick up the phone and call me at work.

So far today I've had an unintelligible lady call me about a story from two years ago, and a guy call me about the teen column ad I ran in today's paper. First the lady asked for the person who had my job before me (didn't have the heart to say she got canned for being psycho, so I stuck with the ol' "she don't work here no mo' "), then she threw a fit when she couldn't talk to her. Needs must I mention that this person spoke almost the worst English I've ever heard, holycrapiwantogougemyearsout. I caught the words story and cemetery, and the city it was in, and before my brain flipped into SUPERHAPPYANEURYSM! mode (made in Japan) I transferred the call to a reporter who might have had the slightest inkling what this woman was mushmouthing about.

It's times like that when I wish I had a big red phone with its own special extension and I could print in the paper: "If you're deaf, old, hostile, retarded and/or don't speak the native tongue of the country you've decided to make your friggin' home for the love of all things great and holy!...then please call THE BIG RED PHONE, ext. 911."

When the big red phone rings (actually, I'd replace the ringer with a siren), I could have my assistant, Igor (a half-human hunchback giant with a megaphone and tons of patience, which may or may not be the result of an illegal lobotomy...who's asking, I don't know anything, mind your own business), answer and delicately handle the caller's desires. But of course, they wouldn't get Igor until they ran through the automated menu, which would include:

"If you're deaf, please say yes."
"If you're blind, please use the keys on your keypad to spell out ICANTREAD."
"If you're retarded, please hang up."
"If you're old, please hang up and call back in four years."
"If you're hostile, please stay on the line so that someone may hang up on you."
"If you're an idiot, please don't call."
"For all other inquiries, press zero for assistance. You will be charged $3.99 per minute."

This extension would also apply to the guy who called me about the teen column. I ran a blurb in today's paper asking any interested teens to send me a packet of stuff by Aug. 15. What does the guy do? Calls and said he saw the blurb in the paper, and when does his child have to have his stuff to me by? Yeah, hello, Aug. 15. I said that in the freakin' blurb. READ, doofus. Obviously you had to have at least skimmed it since you got my phone number, which was at the end...

OK, so then after I tell him Aug. 15, he goes, "Gee, that's really tough to get that stuff together when kids aren't in school yet." Aha...ahahahaha! (sorry, I'll stifle my laugh) Dude, go in the next room and tell junior to put down the PlayStation controller and the gallon of Mountain Dew and put his dang packet together. It's really not that hard. Teach him a little responsibility, wouldja?

So to all you idiots, retards and just the generally dimwitted, I'm gettin' a big red phone. Now, to prepare Igor. Anyone got a chicken they don't want?

Spamalot

I wrote an entry a while ago (OK, not that long ago...before I left for vacation, but that seems like ages ago now...siiiiiiigh) about Spam. Yes, good ol' comes-out-shaped-like-the-can Spam. Good ol' I-have-no-idea-what's-in-it-but-hey-I-think-I'll-eat-it! Spam. Good ol' is-it-sperm?-is-it-ham?-why's-it-called-Spam? Spam. Mmm mmm. Spamarino.

Anyway, in that entry I pondered how Google Mail tailors its sponsored links to users, because I keep getting recipes for Spam popping up on top of my inbox. Well, kiddies, I figured it out. And boy do I feel retarded. (In other words, no different than usual.)

See, there is a link you can click on in gmail that takes you to all the mail it's set aside as what it believes to be spam. When you erase everything, it shows the message, "Hooray! No spam here!" Then, because for some reason it doesn't recognize its own message and ignore it, it thinks you're interested in Spam, and voila...the recipes come a-flowin' in faster than fat through Louie Anderson's arteries.

What other recipes have I gotten, you ask? Get a load of these:

*Spam Confetti Pasta (yes, we need to dress it up with the word "confetti" to make it fun, because it does, after all, contain Spam. Wouldn't want to fool ya, consumer!)

*Spam Fajitas (that's just wrong, and also probably violates some bilingual rule. Like, they should probably use iSpama! -- with the i being one of those fancy shmancy upside-down exclamation point things they use in Spanish...what is that called, anyway, and why do I feel it's wasteful?)

*Spam Hashbrown Bake (anytime I hear the word "bake" in a food name, I automatically think of casseroles that contain unidentifiable leftovers being scarfed by potheads...and I concede you may need to be high to eat this concoction)

*Spam Imperial Tortilla Sandwiches (so out there that we're going to slap a big sparkly name on it to get you to eat it! Also, when you take a bite, does a crown appear on your head while a fanfare plays? Is the crown shaped like Spam?? Yay!)

*Spam Quiche (being part French, I am automatically mad at Americans for soiling zee delicacy of quiche with zee abhorrence zat eez Zpam)

*Spam Primavera (not really primavera if we're involving a meat product, is it?)

*French Fry Spam Casserole (as if it isn't bad enough, now we're going to pack your aorta with french fries at the same time!)

*Spicy Spam Kebabs (sorry, my first thought is "barf")

*Spam Veggie Pita Pockets (again, not veggie if Spam's in there...although I do have to say this sounds like the least offensive of the recipes)

Believe me, there's more where that came from. Now now, I know some of you may like Spam, but you have to admit it's a weird "food." Anything that comes out still in the shape of the can should not enter a human body (except cranberry sauce, and that's just the nature of it, folks).

Hey, at least they didn't list any alcoholic drinks containing Spam. But seriously, I wouldn't put it past 'em. Spam on the Beach, anyone?

Freakin' Spam

I logged into the spam account (or as I like to think of it, "Spam Heaven") I have at work and found this. Isn't this the freakin' funniest spam ever? I swear, I didn't change a thing (except for removing the To: line, because it was addressed to a co-worker and came to me for some reason...which is pretty typical for work spam, actually).

Date: Mon, 24 Jul 06 07:52:15 GMT
From: "JOHN"
Subject: professional food machine manfucturing company in Taiwan

REQUEST SOME ONE SPEAKING CHINESE IN LOCAL AGENT

Dear Sir:
Geo Hon Company is professional food machine manfucturing company in Taiwan
We have 40 years of business experience. We are not only manufacture machinery.
We also provide professional planning design and support.
Our quality of service and technological standards are stabe and renovatve.
Our objective is to be customer service orientd,and to provide the
best possible food and beverage machinery.
We are currently in the prcess of expanding our overseas market.
If you are interested in what we have to offer,
we would be happy to hear from you
Our objective is to be customer service orientd, and to provide the
Best possible food and beverage machinery.
We are currently in the prcess of expanding our overseas market.
If you are interested in what we have to offer, we would be happy to
hear from you.
Sincerely,
John Chen

-----------

OK, somebody needs to hire them a damn proofreader, for starters. Perhaps the missing punctuation could escape attention, but I'm pretty sure that even in Taiwan they have VOWELS. And that it's usually frowned upon in a "professional" setting to omit vowels in a supposed business proposal. I mean, I know it's just freakin' spam, but come ON! How much success do they expect to have with that grammatical nightmare?? So here's to you, John Chen, for being the most ineffective spammer ever. I don't understand all of your e-mail, and that's OK. I'm comfortable with that. However, I don't know how you sleep at night not knowing how to spell innovative (although you seem to think it's "renovative," which is something else altogether). I suggest that you conduct all future business in Taiwanese. And hopefully, whatever food you're manufacturing isn't as effed up as your writing skills.

OMG, I'm never eating anything from Taiwan again. There goes my addiction to dog. Hrmph.

Bring It On

I was all set to blog on something else today when I got a voicemail this morning from what I'll kindly refer to as an "irate reader" (IR).

IR expressed "concerns" in his message with a story we recently ran on a family whose son was shot. The reporter had gone to the scene and did what journalists do: got the story. Obviously, part of this process involved asking the family if they had anything to say. They didn't, so we used the usual "declined to comment" clause in the article. Later, the reporter was standing on the street and heard crying and "wailing" coming from the house. He put this detail in his story.

I decided to return this message before the 11 a.m. daily conference call, just in case things got heated. That way I could use my meeting as a way to get off the phone. Hey, I'm working from experience here. You always need an out when it comes to gabbing with the rejected gene pool of people who call me at work.

So IR had a log up his butt about the "morality of shoving a microphone in a grieving family's face, having them sob something unintelligable into the microphone, then reporting it as sensationalism." (I opted not to point out that print journalists don't use microphones, but whatever.) He took issue with what he perceived as a lack of newsworthiness in talking to a grieving family and reporting "wailing coming from inside the house."

Great, so now I had to put IR through quick-and-dirty journalism school. I told him that it's a journalist's job to try to talk to everyone involved in a story. It's standard practice to ask a grieving family if they have anything to say. We're pretty much obligated to ask...or try, anyway. Believe me, no one is more aware of how frowned-upon this is than us...I used to be a cops and courts reporter and my least favorite thing was ambulance chasing (bothering mourning families). Nevertheless, it's part of our job to try to talk to them.

IR argued that we should wait until the family contacts us with something to say. I countered that as journalists, if we don't try to talk to them right then, we may never have another chance. It's not like 90 percent of people are going to willingly call the newspaper "when they're ready" and talk to us. You have to seize the opportunity. It sucks, but that's the way of it. All journalists do it. IR argued that no, some don't. To which I say: Well then, those are journalists who are afraid of confrontation.

Feeling that he was losing this point, he moved on to the "wailing coming from the house." What newsworthiness is there in this? he asked. Why can't we respect a family's privacy?

Sigh. OK, first of all, the newsworthiness in it is that it sets the scene. It tells the reader what's going on there. Why read the newspaper if you don't want to feel as if you're there? Yes, I concede there are some things we absolutely wouldn't report out of respect for a grieving family. However, our job is to inform the public, and that doesn't always make everyone happy. That is the nature of our job. But we're not here to make you happy, we're here to give you information. If you don't want the information, then stop reading. And I hate to say it, but I seriously doubt that reporting "wailing from the house" is going to hurt the family worse than the loss of their son. Why would it hurt them for people to know they were mourning a murdered family member?

Now IR starts saying that he bets if we started losing subscriptions, we'd change our "policy" (I tried explaining to him a thousand times that it's not OUR policy to report this way, it's the journalism industry's as a whole...but he continued to be a putz, so why bother). He said we sensationalize on purpose to get money.

No. I realize I can't speak for the whole industry, but from a personal level, we're going to sell papers regardless. Therefore, sensationalism isn't necessary. Besides, "wailing" is not sensationalism. It was heard from the sidewalk, which is a public place and could be experienced by anyone who was standing there. I then said that when the case goes to court and people start giving graphic testimony and autopsy photos come out, and the family is in attendance, did he expect us to not report that stuff too? Because we might offend or hurt the family? What about people wailing over their dead in the Middle East? Are we obligated to keep that out of the paper as well?

He started hemming and hawing about how the Middle East is war, and that's different. And I said violence is violence, and we have a duty to report all the details -- within our rights -- of any violent act so that the public is aware, and perhaps even inspired to prevent violence in their own communities, and thank you very much for calling, but I have to go to a meeting now, and you are welcome to write a letter to the editor. Then IR plays the seniority card and says he wants to call someone higher up. So I give him my boss' number and think to myself, "Ha, you'll probably have even less fun with him." My boss has very little patience and silver tongue when it comes to debating journalistic standards.

The whole call got me riled up, because he kept insisting that he wanted us to change our "policy." And I told him good luck, but it ain't gonna happen. So what does he do? He just freaking showed up at the office! He asked for my boss, who won't be here for another hour, and said he wanted to effect an editorial policy change. Sheesh, people. Are you serious?

I can't wait for my boss to get here and tear this guy up. However, I have to say that it's just another reminder of how little people understand of what journalists do, and HAVE to do, in order to give readers information. Sometimes that's so frustrating.

My Amelie List

Yes, yes, I know it's late, but it's freakin' Friday night and I'm still working, for crying out loud. My one reporter who is notorious for turning in late stories is, as usual, staring at 20 minutes before deadline, and I still don't have his weekender. Ah, the tortured lives of journalists. Or lack thereof, in my case.

So for a while I've been formulating my "Amelie list." If anyone's seen the movie "Amelie," you'll remember that each character is introduced with a weird little list of his or her likes and dislikes. For example, Amelie's mom dislikes puckered fingers in the bath, and Amelie likes the sound of cracking the caramel crust on her creme brulee. (I'm too tired to be inserting all the accents, let alone figuring out what key combinations produces them, so if my sister's reading this, get over it.)

OK, so here's my list.

I dislike:

-hair that gets stuck to freshly glossed lips
-the crust that forms on mustard bottles and the red water that forms in ketchup
-the sound of Harley motorcycle engines
-the texture of reheated rice
-the feeling of the shower curtain sticking to you

I like:

-the way whipped cream looks
-the velvety feel of cat noses
-lists
-unlimited free samples
-long back scratches

On a side note, I ate half a pint of Ben & Jerry's Peanut Butter Cup ice cream earlier. I have a tendency to always pick the "nuggets" out of ice cream and then just leave the ice cream part. Why do I do this? I think it's a sickness. I mean, I could just buy a friggin' pack of Reese's peanut butter cups and eat those. Instead, I picked all the cups out of the ice cream and now I have half a carton of peanut butter-flavored dairy product. Which I may never eat. And may sit in my freezer interminably.

Sigh.

Wham Bam, Thank You Ma'am

Yesterday I was at Jamba Juice and found myself calling after a woman when I noticed a set of keys on the counter.

"Ma'am! Ma'am! Are these yours?" I said.

For some reason that got me to thinking about the word "ma'am." I started to wonder if it's...well...rude. "Ma'am." It sounds so demeaning and impersonal: "Well I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't help you with that." (Here's where I should insert a note that I'm generally not against things that are demeaning and impersonal, especially when they are to my benefit, but considering I myself can be labeled "ma'am," I decided to explore it further.)

So I walked my butt (OK, my fingers) (ew, I just used butt and fingers really close together in a sentence, that disturbs me) (please note this blog has nothing to do with either butts and/or fingers, please wipe this from your memory and continue reading) (ew, I just said wipe! really close to butt and fingers! what is going on?!) (hold on, I need to vomit) (OK, done) over to Wikipedia, where I entered "ma'am" to see what I could find.

Pretty funny entry, actually. Here what it starts out with: "Madam is used in direct address, without the woman's name, for example when addressed by a stranger: May I help you, madam? In the United States, 'Ma'am' is usually used. The male equivalent is sir."

OK, so that part isn't funny, but the next part is: "In English-speaking countries, the wife of a foreign dignitary is called Madame (note final 'e') in direct address and formal correspondence, rather than the equivalent word in the person's native language (Señora, Frau etc.). However, one must be careful not to use this term in other contexts, as it traditionally refers to the female head of a brothel.

After addressing her as 'Your Majesty,' it is proper to address The Queen of the United Kingdom as 'Ma'am' for the remainder of the conversation."

Alrighty, first of all, can you imagine accidentally calling the wife of a foreign dignitary the head of a brothel? Ha! (However, I was always under the impression that the head of a brothel is a madam, not a madame. These are pronounced differently. MAD-im versus mad-AM. But what do I know, I'm just an unfrozen caveman lawyer.)

Also, it's OK to call the queen of England ma'am?! That's like "Hello, Your Royal Highness," and then, "What up, woman?! How's it hangin', beeyotch? You wanna have some crumpets 'n' shit?"

I do not understand this ma'am usage.

All this reminded me of the first time I was referred to as "madame" rather than "mademoiselle" in France. Basically, this is the difference between "ma'am" and "miss," or "woman" and "girl." I think I was 15 and a waiter was asking me if I wanted wine. Not only was he calling me madame, he was asking if I wanted wine! I felt so grown up. Ew, barf, a personal moment. Are you getting that not-so-fresh feeling?

I digress. Of course, none of this touches on Marcy's habit of calling Peppermint Patty "sir." I think everyone has their own theory about that.

I Pity the Foo'...

Originally posted July 17, 2006

...who didn't see Foo Fighters play their acoustic concert Friday night in Berzerkley!

Ryan and I saw Foo Fighters and Weezer play Oakland Arena last year. I have to admit, we went mostly because Ryan had never seen Weezer play live before and they're one of his favorite bands, although I was excited to see Foo Fighters too. It ended up being probably the best concert we've ever gone to. It was the last night of their tour, things were crazy, and Foo Fighters (OK, pretty much Dave Grohl) stole the show.

So when we heard FF was coming to town to play an acoustic set (which I believe they're calling "Afoostic"), we jumped to get tickets. I used my LIVE 105 pre-sale password to get us early Orchestra AA seats, worth every penny we paid for the crappy "convenience fee" thing they charge you per ticket.

The venue was awesome...the very art-deco, 3,500-seat theater at Berkeley High School. Orchestra AA was on the floor level, about halfway back from the stage. We had an awesome view.

Ignoring the fact that a really drunk and talkative (but funny) guy was sitting next to us and a large Samoan (?) couple was in front, continually snapping photos and video, the concert was a blast. I told Ryan I thought it might have been even better than the FF/Weezer concert, but regardless, definitely among the best shows we've attended. Dave Grohl is not only a talented singer and songwriter, but really, really good at picking the guitar and just chatting with the crowd.

At one point he apologized for talking so much, but I had to admit that I liked it when he talked. He's hilarious, and we ate up the stories behind some of the songs, such as hanging out in a depressing Seattle apartment with his then-new roommate and bandmate, Kurt Cobain, eating Hungry Man dinners and staring at cigarette butts on the floor while it constantly rained outside, the basis for "Friend of a Friend."

This time around, Dave, Nate, Chris and Taylor were joined by Petra Haden on violin and some vocals, Rami Jaffee on keys and accordion (he kinda looked like Boy George, but damn could he play!), Drew Hester on percussion and Pat Smear on guitar. This eight-piece veritable orchestra fleshed out a lot of the songs on the Foos' new double-album, "In Your Honor" (mostly the acoustic disc).

Aside from the really great music, I don't think I've ever laughed that much at a concert. It was like the ultimate entertainment experience. I walked out remembering why Foo Fighters are one of my favorite bands...they put on a damn good live show, and still manage to sound even better in person than they do on the radio. That's hard for some bands to do. Dave Grohl deserves every penny he earns. Some people might be bitter about always being remembered as "the drummer from Nirvana," but he embraces it. Hearing him do "Everlong" by himself during the encore gave us chills.

If you haven't had the chance to catch the Foos in concert yet, you're missing out. Next time they come around, get out there! You won't regret it.

I Love the Smell of Crazy in the Morning

Originally posted July 14, 2006

A co-worker was nice enough to bring in a vat of donuts today, so I decided to pop over to Longs for some milk. On the way in, I passed this guy I see around town sometimes. Today he was sitting on a briefcase outside Longs, in front of his bicycle. And talking to himself. This is what I heard:

"Green Mervyns Barbara. Hi Peter Barbara."

Started to sound like those spam e-mails you get sometimes. Anyway, so as I was paying for the milk, I could still hear and see him outside. At one point he took off his baseball cap, removed a photo of a pickup truck from his briefcase, lined up the photo with a crack in the ground, cut off a piece of the photo, then started attaching the photo to the wire basket on the back of his bike. Meanwhile, he was saying:

"San Francisco. To see all the girls. Hey, I gotta mike. You talking to me cuz I gotta mike?"

Meanwhile, another guy rode up on his bike and stopped in front of Longs, but then saw this guy, listened to him for a minute, then turned around and rode away.

On the way back, I passed the homeless guy who always hangs around the block my office is on. Sometimes when I walk to work, I find a bunch of baby bananas lying on the sidewalk. Or on the edge of a trashcan. Sometimes I find loaves of bread on the sidewalk outside my work. And then one day it occurred to me that someone's leaving this stuff for that homeless guy. That's nice. I wonder if it's the Thai restaurant next door? One time it was pouring rain and I wanted to go buy the guy an umbrella...I felt sorry for him seeing him sit out in the rain. But then I got afraid that because I run into him all the time, he might expect me to give him more stuff. He seems like a nice enough guy, but ya never know. You never know when someone's going to cross that fine line between neediness and Green Mervyns Barbara.

Anyway, I have no idea what the real point of this blog is. But it's Friday, it's pay day, and we're going to the Foo Fighters concert tonight. I guess you gotta count your blessings.

And if you see a loaf of bread on the sidewalk, leave it there. It belongs to someone.

Dom commented: i'm not petie. i'm "pias." yummy chocolate pudding!

Under the Wire

Originally posted July 13, 2006

Well, it seems that whenever Ryan and I go somewhere, we always manage to beat the odds. If we show up to dinner, a giant crowd floods the place right after we get a table. If we go to get movie tickets, we get there right before the line gets crazy long. It's the weirdest thing. Then, this morning, we see this:

Dinosaur park visitor center is shut down
New report says visitor facility could collape

By Christopher Smart
SALT LAKE TRIBUNE

The world-renowned Quarry Visitor Center at Dinosaur National Monument was shut down indefinitely Wednesday after a new study said it could collapse.
And monument officials say it may be years before funding is available to rebuild the structurally weak center located 20 miles east of Vernal.
Wednesday's shutdown was sudden, but soils and structure problems were recognized as early as 1993 and extensively detailed in a 2003 report.
The visitor center - it houses the world's largest quarry of Jurassic Period dinosaur bones - opened June 1, 1958. Built against a mountainside, its 50-by-150-foot north wall exposes some 1,500 fossils of 11 types of dinosaurs.
About 300,000 people visit the eastern Utah facility each year.
But new studies indicate a small earthquake could collapse the already-shaky structure.
"Over the years, the soils have expanded and contracted," said monument Superintendent Mary Risser. "That has played havoc with the structural integrity."
Two other visitor centers - one in Utah and one in Colorado - remain open in the 210,000-acre national monument.
The Quarry Visitor Center, listed as a National Historic Landmark, was scheduled for a major reconstruction in 2004. But cuts in National Park Service budgets stalled those plans, Risser said.
The $6.3 million to $7.3 million reconstruction was pushed back to 2010. But that time frame is now in question.
"I have no idea when this would score highly enough to get re-funded," Risser said.
Federal officials recognized as early as its completion 48 years ago that soils under the quarry building could lead to problems. A 1993 National Park Service report raised additional alarms about soil drainage and settling.
But an October 2003 Park Service study outlined serious structural deficiencies and underscored the need for prompt action.
"It could be argued that in its current state, the Quarry Visitor Center is marginally habitable," the three-year-old report states. "The building is founded on a shallow foundation system that is not strong enough to resist soil swellingand uplift."
At the time of the 2003 study, a calamity was not out of the question.
"Although the structural system is tenuously stable at present, unchecked deterioration of the distressed roof, floor deck, or a buckled interior wall may result in sudden redistribution of loads and a chain reaction of material failures."
The latest report, however, raised the level of alarm, leading to Wednesday's closure.
That study, initiated in May, revealed that the structure was "a very serious life-safety hazard," Risser said. "We have strong concerns that the whole thing could collapse."
Dinosaur National Monument is the outgrowth of a 1909 discovery by paleontologist Earl Douglass. President Woodrow Wilson designated the find as a national monument in 1915.
Monument staff will continue to provide guided geological hikes, as well as tram tours to the overlook of the confluence of the Green and Yampa rivers.
"We have scenic beauty to compare to any other national park," Risser said.

Visitor-center problems identified in 2003 report:
* Floors heaved as much as 8 inches.
* Windows, under pressure, broke "spontaneously."
* Toilets flushed wastewater onto floors.
* Walls crushed between floor and roof beams.
* Viewing gallery dropped 12 inches.
To view the entire 2003 report, visit
http://www.cr.nps.gov/history/online books/dino/hsr.htm

OK, freaky, we just got back from there! And the funny thing is, we were talking about this very thing during our visit. Ryan was telling me how he had read in a magazine that Dinosaur has been really neglected as far as funding, and that the building is all outdated. Then they close it. We were just there like two weeks ago. So, once again, we made it in under the wire. It's just odd how our timing always works out.

Lacey commented: So before I read each of your blogs I try and guess by the title what it is going to be about....I was totally wrong about this one....I guessed bra's. Damn I was wrong. Thats crazy though. Well I guess its a good thing you went when you did.

Kim commented: Hmm, knowing that, I'm going to twist your brain with some titles now!

Lacey commented: Ha! Thanks!

Muppet Mania

Originally posted July 12, 2006

Today I got in a conversation with a co-worker that somehow circled around to Dr. Bunsen Honeydew from the Muppets. And then I got to thinking about the Muppet Babies cartoon and realized some really disturbing things.

Namely, didn't anyone think it was weird that Nanny had a veritable farm of baby animals living in her house? Not only are we talkin' a baby frog, baby pig and baby bear, but also whatever Gonzo, Animal, and Scooter and Skeeter were. Gonzo...anteater? As for Animal and Scooter and Skeeter, I can't even hazard a guess.

I mean, wouldn't "Nanny's" neighbors think this was odd? That's enough animals to merit a visit from animal control! Especially when unidentifiable creatures are involved. (Has Animal had a rabies shot?!) Also, even though the Muppet Babies wore diapers, I never saw Nanny change them. What's going on, Nanny? If that's even your real name! And what's with those punk striped socks? Why do you never spend REAL time with your Muppet Babies? Why are they always seemingly locked in a room and making a spaceship out of a cardboard box? What's in that brownie?

Nanny could also understand everything baby Beaker said. Something definitely fishy there.

Therefore, I propose Assembly Bill 911. If passed, AB911 (or Nanny's Law) would stipulate that no human may keep a plethora of weird animals in captivity whilst he or she cavorts around in Hot Topic merchandise. Said animals would be subject to repossession and sold to Warner Bros. to perform with Michigan J. Frog as part of a show exploiting creatures who can verbalize. Nanny will be subject to drug testing every month, and must demonstrate that she is a capable caretaker. Background checks will be performed regularly.

Mrs. Duhamel commented: I thank you for the humor you bring into my life everyday! I look forward to your comedy and I propose that you try out for the Last Comic Standing for the next season, due to win guarenteed!!! That said I loved Muppet Babies!!!!

Kim commented: Hmm...first I'd have to put a routine together and then learn how to comfortably speak in public. ;0) Ooo, maybe I should develop a lisp! What? It's been done? Drat.

I shamefully have to admit that I loved Muppet Babies too.

Mrs. Duhamel commented: No you just have to have a lisp as well as be a midget who kicks her leg in the air essently(sp?) like she has leg teret syndrome and have cerebral palsey. Well those two go hand and hand! LMAO! Oh and be a pregnant bitch named Stella from New Jersey, WHAT??? You are gauranteed to WIN!!!

Lacey commented: I am doing one of my crying/laughing things at the moment... damn I should of done less abs yesterday...Oh what would I do without your blogs...I guess have a life...lol

Tips For Travelers

Originally posted July 11, 2006

Having just returned from a lengthy vacation, I've compiled a list of tips for travelers who plan to partake of our nation's wonders.

1. Never, ever, ever hike with your mouth open. I can't emphasize enough what disaster awaits you if you walk through the wilderness with your maw agape. There are things that fly, things that poop, things that fall and things that swarm. You do not want any of these near your oral cavity (especially the second one). Hike along with both lips touching each other. Make an effort.

2. For the sake of the rest of us, if you're an overweight, middle-aged man, please don't wear pleated khaki shorts with a polo shirt tucked in. First of all, pleated khaki anything should be outlawed, mostly because they make you look like a sausage. Second, who wears pleated khaki shorts and a polo shirt in public? It just screams "tool." Not to mention they're usually paired with Birkenstocks or Tevas, showing off your nasty, unkempt feet. Please, save it for the workplace. Invest in some T-shirts and jeans.

3. Don't think you can hike up the side of a mountain in flip-flops. Really, people, flip-flops DON'T always make you look cool. In fact, you'll look like quite the idiot as you plummet to your death because your no-traction sandal slipped off. Hiking boots, Big 5 or Target, $20. Do it.

4. That pink Kissimee, Florida, windbreaker? Leave it home. Same for the "I got lei'd in Hawaii!" shirt and Disneyland hat. These SCREAM tourist. Also, don't pull your pants up to your chin. This also screams tourist. Not to mention dweeb. Would you wear this crap at home? If so, you should be permanently vacationing at Universal Studios.

5. Fanny packs. Unless you're toting around a gun (for you law-enforcement folk) or a crapload of medication for your asthmatic kid, fanny packs are never OK. We're in the backpack era, people! Fanny packs went out when Paris Hilton lost her virginity. In other words, a long time ago. Besides, backpacks can hold so much more.

6. If we're all getting on a bus or a shuttle or something, just pick your dang seat and sit down! Don't stand in the aisle and argue with your partner over who's going to get the window seat. The rest of us are piling up and want to move forward, and it's 5 million degrees outside. We're not in an accommodating mood. So. Just. Sit. Down. Already. Sheesh.

7. One buffalo on the side of the road is not cause for a traffic jam. Do not stop unless there's a whole friggin' herd of buffalo. While we understand, those of us on our way to somewhere don't want to be subject to your fascination with a lone bison. Either pull over in a turnout area, or just slow down and then continue on. If the buffalo is in the MIDDLE of the road, then you can stop. Otherwise, move on, move on.

8. People, if you bring children camping, please make them go to bed, or at least be quiet(er), at a decent hour. Some of us actually want to sleep, and we're tired of a live serenade of "Tomorrow" from Annie at midnight every night. In case you haven't noticed, there are other people camping in the same campground. Shut up! Also, please watch to make sure your children aren't abusing nature, such as ripping out flowers and foliage. This is rude.

9. Similar rule to above, but involving dogs. If the mutt has a tendency to bark late at night, muzzle it. Or if it does bark, tell it to be quiet. Actually do something about it, please! It's not fun to wake up at 2:30 a.m. because the mangy cur is having a "conversation" with distant howling coyotes, and then have to listen to it for an hour because you don't get off your butt to calm it down. Please, have some consideration for others.

10. If you choose to go somewhere with your children, please treat the kids like you actually love them and want to be on vacation with them. After all, it was your decision to bring them. Maybe you don't realize, but it kinda disgusts the rest of us when we have to listen to you telling your kids that you can't stand taking them anywhere, and then watch you yank on their arms or hair or smack them in the face...especially after we've been observing said child(ren) for a while and know they've been pretty OK. It's you, crabby parent, who is having the problem. If you didn't want to be on vacation with your kids, then you should have sent them to camp while you went somewhere else. Your bad. So knock it off.

Well, that's about it for now. And yes, these are all based on things we saw/experienced!

Mrs. Duhamel commented: Had a good time did ya? LMAO! Glad your travels were eventful!!!

Kim commented: It WAS a good time! These things were spread out over 2 weeks. But yup, actually real!

Why?!

Originally posted July 10, 2006

Why, pray tell, is this business of talking on the phone so apparently difficult?

Why, when I answer my work phone with the standard greeting, am I met with a long pause and then a very tentative "Hellooo?"

Yes, hello, I am here...that was made painfully obvious WHEN I PICKED UP THE PHONE AND SAID HELLO.

Actually, in case you missed it, I didn't just say hello, I also said the name of the company I work for, and my own name, just in case you're clueless as to who you've called. That was about 5 seconds of greetings, for the record, and somewhere in there you should have figured out that yes, there is someone on the other end of the line.

Therefore, there's no need for your tentative, questioning and extremely irritating helloooo. I am here. You know that. This irks me just as much as when I answer the phone with the name of my business, and then you ask if you've reached that business. Good job, Captain Obvious, you know how to listen!

This is how a normal conversation usually goes. Please take notes.

Me: (name of company), this is Kim. (I prefer to keep the name of my workplace private because I do a lot of bitching about it.)
Caller: Hi. Crabby complaint. I called yesterday and crabby complaint, but no one called back. Now I want to pester you with crabby complaint, and if you don't do something about it, crabby crabby crabby someone higher up! Crabby!!
Me: I'm sorry about that, sir. You actually need a different person, because I only handle local news stories, not crabby complaint. Would you like me to transfer you now?
Caller: No! I want you to take care of crabby complaint even though you have nothing to do with crabby complaint! And I want it crabby taken care of crabby now!
Me: Well, again, I have no power over crabby complaint. Screaming bitch and really, really deaf old man, I usually handle them. But I'm afraid crabby complaint is out of my hands.
Caller: I'm 900 years old! I've been a subscriber since dirt was invented and I can't believe you're not willing to help me with crabby complaint! Who do you think you are??
Me: We thank you for your longtime patronage, but unfortunately, that has nothing to do with crabby complaint. For crabby complaint you need lazy underpaid grouch who never answers her phone. Not me. I handle the reporters and assignment of local news. If you have a news tip, I can take it. Otherwise, I can transfer you now, or I can give you lazy underpaid grouch's number so you can crabby her directly...
Caller: I'm a war veteran! I've killed Japs and Nazis and earned a Purple Heart! I was even around when the wheel was invented and saw Jesus Christ walk the earth himself! And yet you can't take care of crabby complaint? What kind of business is this?
Me: Sir, I have to go to a meeting now. (It's a lie.) Would you like me to transfer, or would you like lazy underpaid grouch's phone number?
Caller: Don't try to blow me off. I oughta come down there and crabby in person is what I should do. Now just go into your computer thingy and fix crabby complaint. I'll wait. And hurry the crabby up.
Me: But...I don't have access to that information, sir. As I told you, I am in a DIFFERENT DEPARTMENT. I handle LOCAL NEWS. I am not able to fix crabby complaint!!! I can transfer you RIGHT NOW to the person who can, but IT'S NOT ME! Now, what is your preference?
(Caller hangs up. Thank you for time well-spent.)

But see? No where in there did he say "helloooo" or even remotely indicate that he didn't hear someone answer. For that, I love caller dearly. Please, other callers, model yourselves accordingly. Except for the crabby complaint part.

My Summer Vacation

Originally posted July 7, 2006

You tramp around the Western and Southwestern U.S. for 17 days, you come to a conclusion: Camping is like being at a giant slumber party with a bunch of strangers.

You wake up and roll out of the tent, freezing and hair looking like Bride of Frankenstein. You're wearing three pairs of socks, two pairs of flannel pants, a long-sleeve shirt, a hooded sweatshirt and gloves (and you're still cold), somehow managed to jam on the hiking boots -- which are cutting off your circulation because of the three pairs of socks -- and sans contacts, you can't really see. The bathroom is a quarter-mile away and you unwillingly trudge there with your tote of toiletries in hand. The bathroom has one-ply paper, no hand dryer or paper towels, water that feels like it was piped in from the Arctic and a "mirror" that's been cleaned/polished so many times, what stares back at you is hardly your own reflection. Or is it? Geez, you look awful. It's been...what...three days since your last shower? Yeah, but who cares? This is the Great Outdoors. This is living off the fat of the land! OK, it's living off the fat of Pork 'n' Beans that you cooked the night before in a cheap pot that melted on the burner. And the "pork" was really just pieces of pig fat that you flung out in disgust. But still...this is Wild America! This is IT, people!

And everyone else looks just like you. Haggard. Tired. Covered in a patina of sweat, bug spray and sunblock, wearing shorts that have seen better days. MUCH better days. Tank top splattered with mud from riding bikes a few days ago on a trail pocked with puddles. Breaking down camp at 7 a.m. in brisk weather and seeing if maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to roll up the tent good enough to fit back into its bag today. More people trudge by on their way to the bathroom. You exchange a "hello" and that knowing look of "we're at altitude and you got a nosebleed this morning too, huh?" Like I said, one big slumber party. Can you borrow my hammer? Sure. We're "neighbors." Go for it. Just bring it back when your tent's set up. This is a blast!

That's how we spent our 17-day adventure. And what did it all start with? A big ol' nail in our back tire that Ryan discovered before we even left the house. It was a Friday, and now we had to find a place that was open at 7 p.m. and could put two new tires on the Escape. Wal-Mart in Livermore obliged, and after dropping off the remaining good tire at a friend's house in Livermore, we finally got on the road at 8:30 p.m. That landed us in Reno around 11:30 p.m. Exhausted, we went right to sleep in our room at a Best Western that seemed to be undergoing a complete makeover. Good thing we only spent a few hours there.

Early the next morning we set out for Jerome, Idaho...a 500-mile drive that kept us in the car most of the day listening to Stephen King short stories on CD. Discovered a lovely canyon cut by a river and had dinner at the "charming" Idaho Joe's in nearby Twin Falls. One thing you should learn: Outside of California, all meals come with potatoes/vegetables, bread, a salad and perhaps some soup. None of this Claimjumper's "one entree equals an elephant on a plate" stuff. You get a square. Jerome also introduced us to life at the KOA Kampgrounds. Our "neighbors" had a 4-year-old girl they let jump on top of their car like it was a bed. And then she talked all night long asking her mom "why?" and similar repetitive questions that small children torture their parents with. Ah yes, the KOA. Always miles from anything important. Always offering ghetto mini-golf.

The next three days were to be spent in Yellowstone. The drive from Idaho to Wyoming proved somewhat tragic, as we pulled up at a Phillips 66 in Idaho to procure bungee cords for our bikes and discovered upon exiting that we had somehow parked on top of an owl. Yes, poor Hootsie had whoo'ed her last whoo. We're pretty sure we didn't contribute to Hootsie's death, since it's doubtful an owl would make a trip to the Phillips 66 at 7 a.m. (unless it was a severe case of hankering for mini-donuts or the immediate need for a deck of cards). But even more disturbing was this comment from a local: "Ah, yep, looks like you got a good'un there!" Have at it, man. Have at it.

On our way we stopped at Craters of the Moon National Monument, a volcanic park that really does give you the feeling of being somewhere other than Earth. The ground had odd textures, like obsidian crossed with pumice, and the park offered hikes around lava flows and through Indian Tunnel, which greeted us with our first rock scramble and a glimpse of some sort of huge black bird in a nest. The subsequent lunch in Idaho Falls proved that not all my ideas are dumb: Their Subway sandwich shop had a drive-through! Once again I lose out on cashing in on a money-making idea. Grr.

A quick jaunt through Montana landed us in Yellowstone, where our arrival was marked by a giant beetle-like bug that adhered to the windshield and hung on for dear life as we drove about 20 miles to our campsite. That was one hearty (and disgusting) bug! It even succeeded in bending the stick when Ryan tried to flick him off the windshield.

We set up camp, cooked dinner (here's where the infamous melting pot came into play...one tip: don't buy an aluminum mess kit), played horseshoes, walked around the lake, whittled sticks and roasted marshmallows, and listened to ranger talks. It rained one day and it was absolutely frigid at night, but Yellowstone is a beautiful place. We saw Old Faithful, visited the Paint Pots, hiked and biked Fairy Falls (oddly enough, no falls), stared at the Grand Prismatic Spring, discovered to our disappointment that Mammoth Hot Springs stopped flowing in 1998, watched the Lonestar Geyser blow, hiked and biked Kepler Falls, climbed up to Point Sublime (to see the "Grand Canyon of Yellowstone"), met a couple who planned to bike 96 miles in one day (we saw them later and yup, they did it), hiked to Natural Bridge, and saw buffalo, elk, mule deer, squirrels, pelicans and a yellow-bellied marmot. Also watched a chipmunk try to steal some of our utensils.

The next two days we spent in the Grand Tetons, just outside Yellowstone. Camped at Jenny Lake and spent a day checking out Jackson Hole. This is where I finally found a replacement for my sleeping bag, which was not keeping me warm down to 30 degrees as promised, and had a zipper that suddenly busted in the middle of the night. This is also where we would eventually replace our air mattress, which mysteriously deflated one night and would never hold air again (no visible leak). Only in Jackson Hole will you find a stuffed squirrel wearing a hunting vest and holding a rifle. And only in Jackson Hole can you get candy from the Yippee-I-Oh Candy Co.!

In Grand Tetons, we hiked Hidden Falls (gorgeous), met a couple from Concord (small world!), made the 7-mile hike around Two Oceans Lake, saw our first moose and kayaked on Jenny Lake. It was a great two days.

After that we drove to Vernal, Utah, via Flaming Gorge, and listened to Patricia Cornwell's "Portrait of a Killer" about Jack the Ripper on the way. We set up at the KOA and then went to Dinosaur National Monument, where an entire wall of the visitors center is made entirely of rock and dinosaur fossils. There was a femur as tall as me! Alas, we cut the trip to Dinosaur short due to heat, and dined at the 7-11 Ranch in Vernal, which is apparently the Cheers of the town. Everyone knew everyone else there. Kinda creepy. And Ryan was served ribs that looked like they came straight out of an episode of the Flintstones. We encountered a crazy child on a bike, swam at the KOA and I listened to a mean mom bully her kids in a shower stall. Ah, Vernal. Land of wonder. ;)

The next morning was like waking up on a soccer field. The vast grassy expanse was bright and the skies were blue, which erased all memories of someone walking around our tent at 1:30 a.m. And no more waking up in the cold! This day was my day to drive, and I was promptly pulled over for "speeding" in Rangely, Colo. Pish-tosh. The officer let me off with a warning (I really was not going much faster than the limit). We stopped for lunch at Mesa Mall in Grand Junction, which was like stepping into a mid-'90s time warp. Award-winning quote from Ryan: "I have a theory that when you start wearing denim dresses, you've given up on life." (He had a similar theory about fanny packs in Vegas, but it was more about how people don't know when to stop wearing them. Or that they can.) That day brought us through Black Canyon of the Gunnison, where we took a quick hike and drove around the bottom. Now a week into our trip, we finally broke down and got a room at the Best Western Red Arrow in Montrose. TV! And a real bed! Well, actually, I hadn't missed TV that much. But a clean, unlimited shower! Yes, I missed that!

Rested, we set out the next day for Mesa Verde via Durango and Ouray, really pretty little Victorian towns tucked away in the Rockies. We also saw an old mining colony. At Mesa Verde we toured the cliff dwellings (Cliff Palace in particular) that were built by the Pueblo Indians 800 years ago. Saw a jackrabbit and finally got my first look at a non-light-polluted sky. Did you know there are THOUSANDS of stars in the sky?? That you can see?? In the city and suburbs, there are too many lights that drown out the natural sky. Out in the country, it's completely dark and you can see what it really looks like. Amazing. Truly mind-boggling.

With the extra day from leaving Grand Tetons early, we went on the next day to Four Corners -- where we stood in Utah, Arizona, New Mexico and Colorado all at the same time -- then to Natural Bridges. Took the "easy" hike down to Kachina Bridge, complete with petroglyphs, and nearly died of heat exhaustion on the steep climb back up. That trail is inhuman! Then the plan was to stay in Glen Canyon, but that proved to be a big expanse of nothing. So on a whim we decided to try Capitol Reef in Utah. It was absolutely beautiful. Within Capitol Reef is the old town of Fruita, which was settled by Mormons in the 1880s. Some of their buildings and mines are still there, and you can pick your own fruit from the orchards that remain. You can walk through the park-like picnic area that is frequented by literally a herd of deer. We saw rabbits, mice and quail (baby quail too!), and glimpsed another marmot. Yeah, so I accidentally nailed a tent peg into the base of a tree. And then we had to cut the tent free. And buy a new tent peg. And I heard a dog barf up grass. It was still awesome there! We hiked to Cassidy Arch the next day on our way out, a nice 3.25-mile hoofing with a 1,000-foot gain in elevation. Got to take pictures ON the arch. Awesome. Beautiful, beautiful view. Very difficult trail. Ryan almost plummeted to his death...or surely to his extreme injury. After a quick reaction that saved him, he earned the Indian name "Feet Like a Goat."

Exhausted, we drove on to Bryce Canyon. Rode bikes, checked out Sunrise/Sunset points and took truly the most disgusting shower I've ever had the misfortune of taking. It was even dirtier than anything I've ever experienced in France. Even dirtier than anything I used in Czech Republic! The shower was full of a gray slime indicative of the thousands of people who had previously been there. I tried not to touch anything (unfortunately, my feet still had to touch the floor) and the water ran out on me early. I'm not sure if that shower left me dirtier than when I started. Ugh.

It's here I should mention the interesting people we met on our trip. In Yellowstone, our neighbors were a family (grandparents, mom and two kids) from Oregon, who used to live in Arizona and the Bay Area. The grandfather, Monroe, told us about his horrific Goldwing motorcycle accident, and it's a wonder he's alive. His wife was excited to have seen a bear and his granddaughter, Ashley, seemed to be thoroughly displeased with camping life. We also ran into two Australian guys who were running all over the park BAREFOOT trying to get the closest photos they could get of the bison. Nice guys. In Vernal, we met a teacher from Colorado camping with her "partner" and kids. In Bryce, we met a family from Fayetteville, West Virginia, whom we ended up chatting with half the night. Gary is a retired engineer and whitewater rafting guide. His wife, Kay, was a high school French teacher for 27 years and having had her fill of teenagers, switched to teaching English to maximum security felons four months ago. Their daughter, Heather, just graduated with degrees in English and French, and is headed to grad school to become a professor. We all had such a great time, Ryan and I now have a standing invitation to West Virginia and a place to stay.

In Bryce, we hiked down into the canyon and through the hoodoos, which are those pillar-type rock formations that are Bryce's signature. It's beautiful there. One is hard-pressed to take a bad photo! If only it weren't for the overly loud Asian woman lamenting to her friend that there was no cell phone reception because she wanted to call her daughter "and tell her dat I wish on my life she could do dis one time...we always watch da travel channel and I can't believe dis is me here! OK, I want a picture of you here, with dat tree and dat rock!" Understandable, lady, but take it down a notch, will ya? Oi.

After that we headed on to two days in Springdale, Utah, just outside Zion National Park. We rode bikes, watched a German guy build a wood fire on TOP of his barbecue (reason was unclear), hiked to Emerald Pools and Weeping Rock, and waded through the Virgin River in an attempt to get to The Narrows (I was now suffering a strained Achilles tendon, so Ryan went ahead and stopped when the route required chest-deep wading). I sat in the river and saw a fish. We also saw some kind of harmless snake, many giant caterpillars and ants, and a frog later that night. It was absolutely blazing hot, and despite repeated dips in the campground pool (and the fact that we were somewhat disappointed with Zion), we decided to cut our stay there short a day and spend an extra night in Vegas.

The drive to Sin City started with a stop in Grafton, a low-profile ghost town just outside Springdale. There was a family buried in the cemetery who were literally "killed by Indians." The town was settled in 1868, and while small, gave a glimpse into what life was like back then. You had to build your shelter from whatever was available. The church/school house was composed of wood and adobe-like bricks, which have a tendency to flake. I don't know how the buildings there just don't dissolve when it rains. Then again, I somewhat doubt it rains to begin with. Another winning quote from Ryan: "How the hell do you step on gum in a ghost town?!"

At 1 p.m., it was 103 degrees in Vegas. We procured our room in the extravagantly luxurious Excalibur ;) and proceeded to walk around for the rest of the day. Had a very tasty dinner at Wolfgang Puck's new restaurant, Chinois, an Asian fusion place in Caesar's. Unfortunately, on the way back to the hotel we passed a very, very large man squatting in a public corner with his pants down, towel in hand. Neither of us dares to explore the many speculations we have as to what this situation exactly was, but have filed it away as "that big guy's accident." Shudder.

The next day we checked out Fremont Street Experience, where all the old casinos are located. Totally cheesy! And Starbucks is outrageously expensive there. Disappointed, we went on to Bellagio, where we definitely got our money's worth checking out the Ansel Adams exhibit in the Fine Arts Gallery. Next we decided to go to the Palms and catch the new Superman flick, which we enjoyed (yes, the new Superman is hot...there, I said it). Then it was on to dinner at Le Provencal in Paris, complete with an excellent Carmen aria by a waitress and terrific desserts (hey, we earned it).

The last day was spent entirely in the car, listening to "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" on CD and taking in the "wastelands" between Nevada and the Bay Area. (Lemme tell ya, the In-N-Out in Kettleman City sure is happenin'.) Driving up 580 brought on a contradiction of emotions...it's good to come home, but it's also sad to think about the vacation and adventures coming to a close. We had such a great time! Met lots of people, saw lots of animals, walked about 42 miles and biked about 15, read all of Dan Brown's "Angels & Demons," experienced many extremes of weather, and saw some of the most beautiful places our country has to offer. And had fun just hanging out with each other.

The slumber party's over and now it's back to work...but we have memories and photos to last us forever!

Frey commented: That sounds like the best vacation I've ever heard!

I find it fascinating that a woman gets so sick of teenagers that she quits her job to go teach felons. Stupid teenagers.

Odds & Ends

Originally posted July 5, 2006

Odds & Ends
Current mood: blah

Yup, I'm back, and I'll proliferate on my trip as soon as I have a link to some photos. (In the meantime, check out some of Paco's new photos at www.pacostravels.com.) For today, I have some random odds and ends.

Has anyone been watching "Hell's Kitchen?" I have to admit, it's quite entertaining...in an embarrassing way. How has that chef NOT had an aneurysm yet? Do you think when he was a kid he dreamed of growing up to be an adult standing in a kitchen, stamping his foot and yelling, "Give me a f***ing spaghetti!"? (I mean...I know I did like a THOUSAND times at least...) Also, I don't like Sara. Or Rachel. OK, so I hope the blue team wins even though Keith's kind of a choad...sue me!

###

Our kitten does not understand the concept of his own reflection. Every time he looks in the mirror, he swears he sees a whole different cat looking back at him. The result: a running leap from across the room into (INTO) the mirror. At that point, he realizes he has just banged into a mirror and that it wasn't another cat standing there. But just to make sure, he does it again. After shaking his head and seeing canaries, he'll look puzzingly at the mirror again. "But that MUST be another cat!" he seems to think. Ergo, another running leap into the mirror. For some reason, he never learns, because this happens every...friggin....day. He also doesn't understand the concept of glass and starts attacking his reflection whenever he sits on the coffee table. Mommy's getting pretty tired of tiny paw smears on the glass table. STAWP! Well, OK, it's cute...and funny. Darnit, I'm a sucker.

###

Why is it OK for a crazy person to ride her bike down the street yelling things to herself, but it's not OK for me? Everyone dismisses the crazy person, like, "Oh, she's just crazy. No harm done. That's what crazy people do!" Yet, if I were to ride down the street yelling to myself, I don't think it would go over well. People would say something like, "Did you see that chick? What is she DOING? What's wrong with her? Maybe we should call the police."

Double standard! I want to ride around crazy too. Hrmph. Well, maybe not really. OK, maybe once. But just once. That's OK, right?? Yehhhhss...once. Moo-ha-ha. Ehhhhhxcellent.

Bah, back to work. I shall blog when I have something more interesting to say. (Ooo...I just thought of a topic...Mad Libs for people with Tourette's! Sweeeet.)

Yeah, Like I'd Eat That

Originally posted June 16, 2006

I am admittedly not up to speed with the way Google mail tailors its "sponsored links" to the user. I mean, I RSVP'd to a baby shower by e-mail today, and whaddya know, right after hitting "send," a sponsored link popped up for something called a diaper cake. (Thanks, but no thanks.)

None of this, however, explains why Spam recipes have been repeatedly popping up. I am not, and have never been, a consumer of that compressed "meat" product otherwise known as Spam. I have never done a search for Spam recipes, nor have I e-mailed anyone about fake meat. (No, I swear, I haven't. Not even once.)

Two of the recipes that show up the most are Spam Vegetable Strudel and Spam Swiss Pie. Neither of these things, regardless of the involvement of Spam, sound like something you'd want to eat. Crossing vegetables and the German dessert, strudel? Blasphemous! Plus, why would you want to waste your time making strudel when you're just going to incorporate low-quality beeph/porq/chiquen/turquey/entrails? Also, I have no idea what "Swiss pie" is, and I'm not about to debase myself by looking it up, but the thought of anything pie filled with canned meat paste does not a tasty menu make.

There has also been a non-Spam recipe for something called Toast and Spice Smash, or something like that. Yes, please fill my tummy with something that has the word "smash" in it. MMMMM...brings out the cavewoman in me. Actually, just set the Toast Smash out in the field...I'll club it in the head and drag it back by the hair, thanks.

Well, regardless, I'm going to have to subsist on jerky for the next two weeks, as Ryan and I are leaving for our road trip (yes, taking the car this time) and camping adventure tonight. On the agenda: California, Nevada, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado and Utah. We'll be hitting up Yellowstone, Grand Tetons, Dinosaur, Mesa Verde, Zion, etc. So I hope you can live without blogs for two weeks.

And if you can't, well, there's always Spam sundaes. Hasta.

Frey commented: NOW YOU GO TO COLORADO!!!???

The Name Game II

Originally posted June 15, 2006

Since my last entry, I've had the pleasure (snicker) of editing yet more graduation lists. You guessed it...I found more weird monikers.

*As if it wasn't shocking enough to find two Sparkles, I found a second Champagne (only spelled Shampayne this time). Seriously, are people at the point of naming their children after alcohol? I'm just waiting for the gaggle of boys named Guiness, Hennessy and Courvoisier, and girls named Martini, Cristal and Tanqueray. Sheesh. I mean, I once knew a kid named Sex on the Beach (that was his first name...his middle name was Seth), but that wasn't nothin' compared to Shampayne.

*There's a person, I swear under oath, named Yu Mee. First name Yu, middle name Mee. I feel this is their parents' way of insulting our intelligence. Or maybe they just want their son (daughter?) to get his (her?) ass (ass?) kicked (taped together?).

*Came across someone named Tsz. WTF, now we're naming kids after noises? How do you pronounce that? Jjjjjhhh. Jzzzzz. I have no idea. Oh wait, "kick my ass." Yeah, that's it.

*Well give these parents an award, they named their daughter Stormy Wethern. That's so cheesy it's almost funny. Sounds like one of those fake newscaster names they'd make up on "Who's Line is it Anyway?" Do you think a name like this automatically sets you up for a career in meteorology? Or just a career in getting your ass kicked?

*Freakin' awesome last name: O. Yep, just the letter O. How sweet would that be to go through life being called Mr. O? Sounds like an assassin, or a ninja...something creepy-cool! "Don't f*** with Mr. O!" Props to the O family. (What are they technically called...the Os? The O's? The Oses? Who knows. Er...knOs. Whatever.)

*Not so freakin' awesome of a last name: Mankiller. You gotta wonder what, at some point in history, earned someone in his family the distinction of mankiller...as in, the only one, because otherwise no one would know who you're talking about when you bring up that Mankiller guy. Not to mention why no one ever changed it to something more innocent...like Bunnynose. I propose changing Scott Peterson's name to Scott Mankiller, and everyone named Mankiller to Bunnynose. Problem solved. And the cuteness factor increases exponentially.

*THE last name to end all last names: Titsworth. OH. MAN. I don't want to imagine what this kid's life has been like. Not to mention his mom...Mrs. Titsworth. What if she's a Sunday school teacher or something? (Child raises hand.) "Mrs. Titsworth?" (Mrs. Titsworth:) "Sinner! Do not call me by name! You shall call me Mrs. Breastvalue!" What if Mrs. Titsworth married Mr. Buttram? It'd be the Titsworth-Buttram wedding. Eek. Then there's Mr. Titsworth. Could you ever in good conscience work for a CEO named Joe Titsworth? Or Richard. Yeah, Richard. Dick Titsworth. EW. You'd almost have to file a sexual harrassment suit just from reading his business card. Plus, kinda makes you wonder how some girl fell in love with and married into the Titsworth name, and then SPAWNED A CHILD to carry it on! Maybe try Jones? Or Buttsniff? Even Buttram is mildly bet...no, never mind. It isn't. Equally bad. Equally bad. Sigh...I wonder if this kid had cute nicknames, like Titsy or Tit-o or the Titmeister. Tittle McDiddle. The Big Titmo. Titstein the Great.

Am I going to go to hell?

The Name Game

Originally posted June 13, 2006

t's that time of year again...that time when I get to lovingly edit dozens of graduation lists from our area schools. Aside from the fact that these lists are a testament to the fact that people can't follow SIMPLE FRIGGIN' DIRECTIONS (i.e., don't send attachments, paste the list into the body of an e-mail, first name then last, all in one column...what do I get, an attached filed with three columns, last name first and written in some unintelligible font...), I have come across some seriously funky names.

For real, people, what the hell are you naming your kids?

There's the porn route: I found two (yes TWO) people named Sparkle and one chick named Champagne. There was also a guy whose two middle names were Chesty Puller.

There's the let-me-roll-my-eyes category: A girl named Can-Da'ce (do we really need to get that creative on the spelling of Candace), a girl named Yessica (would the J really hurt that much to spare a kid from a lifetime of mispronounciation?), a guy whose middle and last names were both Flores (Flores Flores...how original) and a dude named Maverick (I bet he hardly ever gets Top Gun references thrown at him).

Next, the OMG-didn't-you-think-this-through-before-naming-the-child?! category: A...um, person...not sure whether it's a girl or a guy...named Bi, a dude named Lacy (yes, a dude), a girl named Poonam (I bet she NEVER gets teased about that...), a guy named Dung (I hope he hangs out with Poonam so people can get the teasing over with in one shot), a boy named Amandeep (think about it), and, I shit you not, a guy whose last name is Buttram. At that point, I'd be changing my name to something...anything...that is NOT Buttram. Basically, "Hi, I'm Kim Buttram" is not going to land you that star news-anchor job you've always dreamed of. That will land you a job as prison broomholder. And by broomholder, I mean... well, you know what I mean.

There's the weird: a guy whose first, middle and last names all start with X. Sweet, who wouldn't want their initials to be XXX! And there's a chick named Precious, but a co-worker tells me that's popular in the South. (However, I'd like to counter that we don't live in the South, so I'm willing to bet poor Precious probably goes by something else...maybe Cher.) There's the scads of Bomquitas, Shaqualahandras and Darshells, etc., but I'll say the most creative spelling I came across was Shnekqua. There also was a Diamondnique (my sister might like this), and a boy named Genesis.

It's a good thing these names were sprinkled throughout and not all belonging to the same person. Because sure as I hell I wouldn't want to be Sparkle Bi Dung Buttram III.

Nope. At that point I'd change it to Shnekqua Chesty Puller. Gotta keep a low profile, ya know.

They Just Don't Get It

Originally published June 7, 2006

Continuing my quest to remove our work fax number from unnecessary mailing lists, I called a removal number today and -- after inputting the required information -- got this message:

"Thank you. We will attempt to fax you a written confirmation. You will receive no more faxes from our company after this confirmation has been sent."

OK, first of all, NO, do not fax me a written confirmation. The whole point of me calling a FAX REMOVAL number is not to receive more effing faxes. It's to STOP them. Do you think if I called a Stop Kicking Me in the Head number, I would want you to confirm by kicking me in the head one last time? How 'bout I kick you in the groin? Stop. Sending. Faxes. I wouldn't even care if they were informative, but it's always this garbage about lower interest rates or great prices on bulk printed T-shirts. Hardly the kind of poop a newspaper is interested in.

Second, this isn't the first time I've called this number and gotten this message. Therefore, I want to know a) why this supposed "written confirmation" has never arrived, yet I still continue to get more crap faxes. It's obvious this company is having no problem getting through to our number. So send the confirmation already! Sheesh. ... and b) why is the sending of this confirmation only described as an "attempt?" No, there's no attempting, you either send it or you don't. Me "attempting" to kick you in the groin isn't the same as actually doing it. What if I said I'd "attempt" to send you $1 million? And then you never got it, and you asked me why, and I said it was only an attempt? Attempting implies the possibility of failure. If all the other crappy faxes have been successful at inundating my machine, to the point of where I have to call your apparently undermanned little removal number, then I don't see how an "attempt" at sending confirmation suffices.

As you can see, they just don't get it. Removal = off. No more. Never again. Complete and total absence. Why even pay the money to keep this number going??

This makes me want to scream a nonsense word. FLOOBLES!!!! That's right, people, frickin' floobles. You see what they're doing to me? Sigh.

The Answer

Originally posted June 6, 2006

Technically I shouldn't be blogging right now, seeing as how we're in the thick of election craziness here at work, but I suppose I can set aside a few minutes to answer Lacey's question in my Open Mic entry.

Lacey asks which side -- glossy or non -- of the toilet seat protector is supposed to face down.

I don't know whether there's a real, official answer to this. But I'll tell you what I typically do.

When I pull out a toilet seat protector (or "ass gasket," as they're also known...and by the way, kudos to you, Lacey, for actually using them, because if you read my early blog on this subject, you'd know I fly into a hysterical rage when I encounter someone else's pee on the seat) and there is a fold in the middle, I place the fold facing down (in other words, if you looked at it from the side, it'd look like a V). This helps ensure that the hole will punch downwards easier (oh yeah, forgot to mention that I don't usually punch out the hole by hand...I let the action of me sitting punch out the hole). (OK, wait, that didn't come out right.) (Have you noticed I included a lot of parenthetical asides in this paragraph??) (OK, stop it.)

Today I noticed that by placing the fold down, this usually puts the glossy side on the bottom. If you happen to get a seat protector that isn't folded, I still recommend putting the glossy side down. The non-glossy side is more absorbent, so I would hope that any...uh, stray waste...would be soaked up by this layer.

I just read this over, and I sound like a complete nut job. OK, guess my work here is done.

Lacey commented: Thanks Kim...I will start putting the glossy side down, which I currently do not do. Also I wanted to add, that I actually do not sit on it, I just stand over them......

Tidbits

Originally posted June 2, 2006

Have you ever noticed that Starbucks whipped cream leaves a funky film on the roof of your mouth?

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I like the word "upbraided."

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Anyone else kinda freaked out by this whole Iran thing?

Lacey commented: You know what words bother me....."Nexted" and "Texted"

Is NEXTED even a word? I hate it. It really gets to me...

The quote " I got nexted" is stupid....good job MTV....Gold star to you!

And how do you texted someone...its just wrong...

Kim commented: I've never heard "I got nexted" ... what does that mean?

Yeah, I've always had a problem with "text" as a verb too. "I texted her." Yuck...just not right.

Lacey commented: Next is a show on MTV....people go on date with like 5 people, they are on a bus and you get to date one at a time and not see the other people unles you "next" that person..."like next, moing on" Then they say "I got Nexted" It really bugs me....

Mr. Kitten Takes a Bath!

Originally posted June 1, 2006

Quick lesson: Young kittens are not so great at cleaning themselves. They're kind of like guys...they sit, they poop, they get up and go. Moral of the story: Kitten smells like poop.

How to remedy this? Why, give kitten a bath, of course! Get 'im used to the water while he's young, I say. How hard could it be to bathe a 13-week-old kitten?

So on Friday night, I went to Safeway and, after having a small heart attack over the $12 price of cat shampoo, opted for a $3 bottle of no-tears baby shampoo and lightheartedly made my way back home.

"OK, kitty, you're going to have a bath soon! Better get ready!" I told him. He answered by crazily running all over the bedspread and attacking my shoelaces. "I mean it! We're tired of you smelling like poop!" (I may not have actually used the word poop, but something naughtily similar.)

I changed into a T-shirt and sweats, and ran some warm (not hot) water into the kitchen sink. "Here we go, bud!" He was none the wiser and attempted to eat my hair (again). I think he believes it's some sort of nest.

I gently plopped him (if one may actually "plop" something "gently") into the partly filled sink and watched with amusement while this adorable creature regarded the water as if it were hot coals. Well, on with the bath...he wasn't clawing me too badly yet.

"It's OK, buddy!" I wetted him down with the dish sprayer as he meowled with displeasure. "Meowrrrrr! MEOWRRRR!!!" Oh, dear Lord, the neighbors must be thinking I'm making Chinese food up here, I thought. "MEOWWWRRRRRR!!" he continued as I started to massage in some of the shampoo.

"What are you murdering in here?!" Ryan wandered in to ask. Toulouse took this as his opportunity to escape and grabbed on to the front of my shirt like it was a ladder, soaking me in the process. I quickly returned him to his temporary hell and began to wash off the shampoo. "MEOWRRRRR!!! MEOWRRRRR!!!"

At this point, our other cat, Ever -- who so far is really not a big fan of her little brother -- pawed at my leg and let out an inquisitive meow when I looked down, as if to say, "Is he OK? What's happening?" Of course, she went right back to hating him as soon as I dried him off, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right? She'll learn to love him as soon as he stops chasing her and trying to jump on her.

Wondering what all this cuteness looked like? Well wonder no more.




"AGH! That was terrifying!!"

"Yeah, I'm wet, you wanna make something of it?"

"This is my better side."





Ever regards the newly cleaned Toulouse with her usual extreme caution.





"I bow to you, O big sister."





"Pitiful, ain't I?!"





I just love this photo because he shook his head right when I took it, so if you look closely, he has two noses!

And guess what...yep, he smells like poop again.

Jodie commented: Awwww! Kitty! I love the second one the best, it is too cute! Ah, the joys of being a parent! I love hearing we're not the only ones going through this! Thanks for sharing!

Mrs. Duhamel commented: Ah this sounds vaguely familiar to the baths I give Hunter every so often. LMAO!!!

Julz commented: Awww, all clean little man He is so cute....I love how Ever wants nothing to do with him and just wants to watch him!

Open Mic

Originally posted May 31, 2006

Now taking requests. Here's your chance to speak up and let me know what you've been itching to have me blog on. What is it?? Comment and let me know. And don't give me something vague like "dog fur" or "aluminum cans." Get a little more specific, please. I'm not out of blog topics, but do want to see what you'd like to read. So c'mon...go for it. Pick my brain! Anything you want. I'll try to have open mic once a month.

Mrs. Duhamel commented: Here's one for ya, my mom read somewhere that scientists believe that the hole in the ozone layer will be closed by the year 2020. What are your thoughts?

Kim commented: Wow, well I'm glad we started with something light.

To aid me in my answer, I consulted google. A quick search using "ozone 2020" brought up scads of info...and interestingly enough, very divergent opinions on the issue.

It seems that the British scientist who first discovered the hole in the ozone above the Antarctic fears another hole may develop above the Arctic by 2020. At the same time, Japanese scientists are saying that the movement to reduce greenhouse gases may cause the hole to begin shrinking in 2020 and completely close up by 2050.

Here are my thoughts:

1. More information is needed. How quickly does the ozone layer "heal?" They're talking about seeing a measurable reduction in the hole in less than 15 years. Is that enough time, considering we have not yet seen a dramatic reduction or improvement in products/vehicles/machinery/etc. that emit ozone-depleting gases? Hybrid cars are not the majority as yet, but I believe they will lead the way in a) cutting America's dependence on foreign oil and b) decreasing the amount of "shmutz" that goes into our air. Solar and wind power, as well, are two things I believe we should be developing more for mass use, and on an affordable level. So, will there be an ozone-hole shrinkage by 2020 and complete closure by 2050? Perhaps. But perhaps not. It all depends on how quickly the ozone can heal itself, and on whether we decide to cooperate with the Earth, rather than exploit it. Regardless, less than 15 years doesn't seem like enough time.

2. I read the other day that scientists are speculating it was much warmer in the Arctic ages ago than previously believed. I think I remember the description was "Florida-like," with temps in the mid-70s. This has almost nothing to do with the discussion, except to point out that there's so much scientists still don't know about global warming (or, as one of my bosses believes, the lack thereof). All these predictions and hypotheses are based on available information, and as discoveries are made, they are altered to fit the facts. They're still uncovering "the facts." So, all said and done, again, do I believe the ozone hole will shrink by 2020 and close up by 2050?

I'd like to say yes. But based on consumption patterns by major countries like the U.S. and China, I don't think so. People are greedy, and if they can't "see" an ozone hole, they're not going to do anything about it until the threat is right on their doorstep. As they say, "Out of sight, out of mind."

Shoot, some people still don't even recycle their phone book. Things are mighty environmentally friendly out here in California, but it's not the same everywhere else. We have to remember that when forming our conclusions about what will stem the epidemic of global warming.

Mrs. Duhamel commented: That was very helpful and informative! I will copy and post this for my mom!

Lacey commented: I think I would like you to talk about which side of the toliet protector is suppose to up face up...there is a shiny side and a dull side.....and i don't understand which one to face up...and I think about everytime I used a restroom......

Dom commented: oooh! in addition to lacy's(or was it lacey? whatever, sorry girl!) comment about toilet seat covers, i have this ongoing debate with shannon and tara about which direction it should be placed in. i say the the hinge of the flap goes at the bottom- it only makes sense! public toilets are shaped funny and have those odd thick parts at the bottom of the seat- just like the toilet seat covers! its a perfect fit! shannon and tara BOTH say the the hinge goes on the top- that's dumb! then that leaves some of the thick part exposed! whatever, i know i'm right 'cause it just do happens that, on my trip, i was in a public bathroom with toilet seat covers (yes... in europe, this is a rarity, which is probably why they had this next part) and there was actually a diagram of how to use one. to continue the bathroom debate- toilet paper over? or under the roll? i definitely say OVER!

more topics later- OH SO TIRED!

why don't you call me, (NO quotations) you little poo butt?!

Kim commented: Personally, I place the hinge at the top, but mostly out of habit. I could see how it makes sense to do it the other way, but as long as you don't tear the entire middle out, the thing should cover the entire seat anyway. By "thick part" I assume you mean that little opening at the bottom of the seat because public toilet seats are shaped like an upside-down U. Well, all technicalities aside, I'm pretty happy as long as the seat is not soiled by a previous person and the protector does its job.

As for toilet paper, that's easy. Everyone knows it should go over the top of the roll. If it goes under, sometimes it drags along the wall, and you have no idea what's been on that wall! Maybe someone coughed on it!!

Seeing as how you left this comment on 6/29, I didn't call because I was still on vacation and didn't have reception! And when I did, it costs $$ to call while roaming.

Driving, Part Deux

Originally posted May 26, 2006

Since my last blog on "crazy driving spots," I was reminded of a few more places that send me to the brink of insanity. And if you think I was kidding about having given myself road rage at my desk after that last entry....I wasn't.

The Caldecott Tunnel
How could I have omitted this gem? Have you ever noticed that it doesn't matter what time of day or direction you're heading in, you're always going the way that has only one bore open? Guaranteed traffic either way. Good thing they're going to start a new bore soon, or I'd beat myself in the head with a shovel. Not that I already haven't.

The Whole Foods/Target parking lot in San Ramon
Two words: engineering genius. "Hey Merle...ya think this here mega-popular specialty foods store and this big-box superstore are gonna attract a few thousand people a day?" "No way Jeb, just build the funky entrance and cramped parking lanes the way boss said to...don't wanna cause any trebble now, y'hear?"

As far as shopping-center parking lots go, this is among the most effed-up of them all. Traffic merges into one lane right at the entrance of the lot, and half the rows of parking spots at Whole Foods dump you out into the exit, instead of being able to turn into more rows of spots. Throw in tons of pedestrians and other businesses like Baja Fresh, Pasta Pomodoro, Borders and Jamba Juice, and it's a recipe for disaster. Wait, make that a symphony of destruction. It's San Ramon. They appreciate symphonies there.

Blackhawk Country Club parking lot
Yeah, yeah, I know...it's a durned country club, what the heck could I be complaining about if I get to park at a country club, right? Well, that's where my chorus rehearses, so I don't purport to have even a fraction of the wealth it requires to live and be a member there. Therefore, I am entitled to complaints. You'd think, with all that money flowing through the neighborhood, they coulda built a more efficient lot. There's 140 of us in chorus. You're talking upwards of 70 cars per rehearsal. Since no one polices the lot, people park in the red zones, which are perpendicular to the regular parking spots. That means if you're in a regular spot and have to back out, you can't until the person in the red zone leaves. Where is that person? Oh, probably back inside, chatting with one or several of the 140 choristers. Where are you? Banging your head on the steering wheel. Ergo, I request either more parking spots, or an absolute ban on the red zone. Granted, I'm guilty of occasionally using the red zone too when I'm late, but I make sure to leave immediately after rehearsal so people can get out. But, I guess that's a little too logical when your head isn't swimming with Swiss bank account numbers.

Taco Bell, Foothill Boulevard, Hayward
This one isn't as bad, but I do admit that sometimes I avoid going to that particular TB because of this specific situation. You can only turn right on Foothill when you exit the TB lot, and it's such a busy stretch that you either have to wait 20 minutes for a break in traffic, then cut straight across so you can make a U-turn from the left-turn lane, or go with the flow, turn right, and risk ending up on the freeway if you can't cut over. Simple as that. Annoying. And their Crunch Wraps are soggy. Blasphemy.

I'm feeling slightly less road rage-y than last time, so let's quit while we're ahead. All I have to say is, I'm glad I get to walk to and from work most days, and avoid driving altogether.

Happy Friday. Back to work.

Odds and Ends

Originally posted May 25, 2006

Sorry it's been a while since I've blogged, but this week has been crazy busy! Wouldn't ya know, our cops reporter has been out with health issues and my night cops went home sick last night...two minutes after she walked out the door, a huge story broke and I was by myself, so yup, I had to play reporter last night. It was good, though...I miss reporting. Anyway, just a few tidbits tonight, as it's still pretty hectic here at work.

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Why don't people name their daughters Jill anymore? I was thinking about this, and I've only known, like, three Jills in my entire life. It's a rather pleasant name...why not Jill instead of all this Bricknell, Tiffarella, McClaire crap? Who can imagine an 80-year-old woman named Tiffarella anyway?? I say go for plain! I am pro-Jill.

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The other day I was walking down the street, I think, and I caught a whiff of something I immediately identified as "airport smell." Then I started to think how funny it is that there's actually a smell I associate with the airport. It's kind of a mix of stale cigarette smoke, diesel fuel, recirculated air conditioning and people. I know that sounds crazy, but seriously...every time I'm in an airport, it doesn't matter which one, it smells the same! It's funny how much we can attach to our olfactory sense.

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So we recently switched to a new e-mail system at work, and in order to avoid the P.O.S. that it is, I imported everything into Outlook. Unfortunately, there's no easy way to get the company's global address list in there. So I've been typing in some addresses by hand. As I was scrolling through the list, I saw that Patrick Hartman, who used to work in advertising in my office before he got sent to a sister paper, has an address that doesn't follow our normal convention. Usually we use first initial and last name in our e-mail addresses, but his was just hartman@e-mailaddress.com. Then I started to wonder why...and realized that his address would be phartman. Say it out loud...all one word. Yeahhhh. I love that someone decided that would be a bad idea. Wish I had been there for that conversation!

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I was watching "History of the World, Part I" the other night (LOVE that movie) and thought it was extra funny that Madeline Kahn had gum in her mouth in the scene where she's being carried through Rome on the litter. Gotta love Mel Brooks' subtle touches! (What can I say...it's good to be the king.)

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Stay tuned next time, when I have a few "driving spots that drive me crazy" additions.

Driving Me Crazy...Literally

Originally posted May 19, 2006

Working down my little list of blog topics, today I'd like to talk about driving spots that push me to the edge of insanity. Without further ado, here are the places that make my blood boil the most.

1. Interstate 580E, from Hopyard to the Altamont and beyond. Why does this stretch of road suck so much ass?! Oh, that's right, because Caltrans likes to play a fun game called "Let's Jam a Bunch of Semis on a Busy Commute Route, Then Add in Metering Lights and a Pay Scale, and Keep it at a Minimum of Lanes." Seriously, someone's playing God here, and not in a good way. If you're trying to complete the simple task of getting to Livermore, sure, you could hop off at Santa Rita and truck it over to Stanley Boulevard. But that still doesn't avoid the Seventh Circle of Hell more commonly known as Valley Avenue. I'd advise keeping a bottle of gin under your seat to deal with this gem of a commute....but that's not legal. So, I'll just say to keep a big novel in the car with you.

2. The 92/238 split. Yeah, that's right, you think just because the San Mateo Bridge was smooth sailing, you're gonna get off easy? Think again, punk. As punishment for even assuming it was gonna be a piece of cake, we're going to make you run the labyrinth known as the 92 split. They're going to 880 South! No, North! No, South! No, now they're just getting out of the way to get on Jackson, and the lights are backing up! What're you gonna do, punk? What're you gonna do? You gonna sit in the 880S line? Don't count on having dinner. Gonna wait in the 880N line? Good luck getting out of it before you actually end up on the freeway. Did you remember that big novel you were supposed to put in the car? Aw, you're screwed.

3. Any of the 580/680 interchanges. Caltrans didn't just stop at one screwy 580/680 interchange...no, they had to make four. Four! OK, well, the flyover going south to east isn't that bad, except for the fact that it pretty much dumps you out at Hopyard, right where that nasty Altamont traffic begins (see item 1). But the 580W/680S/680N interchange, and the 580E/680N/680S interchange, and the 680N/580E/580W interchange...what in the blazing infernos are those all about?! I think all three involve some sort of DNA double-helix maneuver where you actually cross traffic to get on the correct freeway. I say the 580E/680N crossover is the worst, but Ryan's top pick is 580W/680S (which, by the way, is always backed up...even on the weekends...so I have to give him that. Then again, just stop going to the mall, people!). It's a wonder I've never been sideswiped on any of these crazy pieces of poor engineering. Feh, even just talking about it is increasing my blood pressure. Must move on.

4. What in the FREAK is that weirdo crossover interchange thing near Emeryville?! You know the one...where if you're headed to the city from the East Bay, it suddenly splits off towards Sacramento? This is a bad, bad, bad idea. I absolutely can't stand this spot...mostly because idiot people won't let you over, but also because it ties up traffic at a place where it's already bad from the toll plaza backing up. This was also where I once saw one of the greatest things ever...a Honda Civic hatchback covered completely in Astroturf...but that's neither here nor there. The bottom line is that, well, it just sucks.

5. Who could forget 580W/238/880? Certainly not me. Is there any reason at all to not hop on side streets and avoid this disaster? Seriously...take your butt into Hayward, go down Jackson and get on 880 or 92 from there! What reason is there to weave through the line of semis backing the whole thing up for two miles? This belies the fact that ALL of 880 sucks, but I'm talking about specific spots...so the interchange it is. In fact...can anyone think of ANY good interchanges in the Bay Area? If anyone from Caltrans should happen to read this...go $@*& yourself.

6. Last, but not least (because I'm running out of time and energy), the entrances to 580W, 880, 238 and 580E from Foothill in Hayward. I mention this spot because the lanes on Foothill are not clearly marked as to where they're going to dump you. F'rinstance, the right-hand lane logically should be marked "580E or 238/880 only." (Coincidentally, this is also a bad spot to get on 238/880, because they have some freakin' weird entrance to 114 or some crap right there, so there's like three different things going on and it gets really frustrating and...oh, you get the picture.) The middle lane should be marked "580W only." And the left lane should say nothing, because it'll keep you off the freeway and land you in Castro Valley. These entrances are right near where I live, so I use them all the time, and I hate, hate, HATE when people decide at the last minute that no, they're not going to get on 580W, they're going to get on 580E, and you better get the hell out of the way because yes, this little triangle divider thing is actually a makeshift lane change! Idiots.

Well, I have successfully given myself road rage while sitting at my desk. What an accomplishment! I give myself two hypothetical kudos.