Incredible Melting Snowpersons

It runs in the family, I guess. My mom and dad saw the Melting Santa Extravaganza, and felt they had to one-up me with a little Xtreme Xmas Xorcisms of their own. I present to you... the Incredible Melting Snowpersons, along with my dad's commentary.


Not to be outdone by your Santa, Mom and I decided to reign fire on a couple of decorative snow men that have been sitting in our closet for a while now.

This is how they looked at 7 p.m.

Flame on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A "tip of the hat" to those in Snowville...Muahhhhhhh

7:35 Unfortunately....these guys will never get ahead!!! A head! Get it?

8:40 Well, these guys were pretty small to begin with.

The Santa has melted.

Our favorite Christmas activity so far has been watching this Santa candle melt, head first. It's like a cross between an advent calendar and a bad sci-fi film from the 60s. This is the first installment of Melting Santa -- expect more as this festive season continues.





Looking good there, Santa. This is before I figured out that the flash didn't help. Don't worry, I capture the ghoulish reality of Melting Santa much better later on.
















Do you smell something burning?























It's eerie how long his face stayed intact. Santa's little beady eyes accused us mercilessly from across the room.




Headless Santa. Fantastic. Thanks, Chris' mom!

Christmas at the beach

Here at the beach, we've got quite a large number of hobos. They're pretty harmless, and they're an excellent indigenous source of recycling.

The other night I managed to get this photo -- excuse the blurriness, I was trying to get the photo without this guy turning around. He's got a trash bag over his shoulder and he's wearing a Santa hat. It's kind of sad, but also just very Pacific Beach, in a bizarre and somewhat joyous way.



We bought a tree from the lot that's about 3 blocks away from our house, which meant that we could walk it home. Between my handmade ornaments, and the boxful of ornaments so thoughtfully supplied by Chris' mom, we've got quite a nice little tree. Very sincere.

You will notice that it's handily located next to our front door. This arrangement is compliments of TinyHouse. Don't worry, we've actually taped a note over the deadbolt outside that says "Use back door. Xmas tree behind this one." Good thing we did, too. Our landlord had to come over last Friday to check on the pipes -- that would have ended in tears.

Bad Copy of the Day award

Today's award goes to a completely non-work-related website. I was on Disneyland's site looking for the last day of their holiday decorations, and came upon this beauty:

"From the 100-foot goldenized tree on Main Street, U.S.A. in Disneyland park to the illuminated Golden State Bridge of Disney's California Adventure park, to the Yuletide decorations in the Hotels of the Disneyland Resort, you will find yourself wrapped in the spirit of the season."

Yeah. Goldenized. I guess "gilt" was too much for the common people. If they were worried about the comprehension factor, they should have just dumbed it all the way down to "shiny." Goldenized. This is why marketing people need copywriters to keep them from vomiting crap like this onto their sites.

P.S. -- Dear Disneyland marketing people. Cool it on the capitalized nouns. You are not in Germany.

Word Vault

I think today marks the beginning in yet another occasional feature. I'm calling this one Word Vault. You know how everyone has at least one song that they hate so much that they'd like to lock it up in the song vault, never to be heard ever again? For me, that song is "Celebration" by Kool and the Gang.

I am of the opinion that the world needs a Word Vault as well, and I'm going to start it with the word "hubby." You tend to see instances of "hubby" concentrated anywhere on the internet where overweight housewives tend to congregate. The two examples I can think of are Christian message boards and cruise passenger message boards. So really, message boards. Even worse is the corrupted version, "DH," which apparently stands for "dear hubby."

So please, I beg you. Stop the hubby madness.

UPDATE: I am a bad ass. editor. Thanks for the typo alert, Nathan.

Bad Copy of the Day award

From a website called obesityhelp.com, describing one of the forms of bariatric surgery:

"Laparoscopic -- Abbreviated "Lap." Operation performed using a laparoscope, a thin fiber-optic scope introduced into a body cavity through 4 or 5 small stab wounds."

Product rants and raves

Today's cautiously optimistic product rave is in support of Head On, a new headache medication that is applied directly to the forehead, Chapstick-style. I saw a crappy commercial for it, and was intrigued. I got a really bad tension headache today, the kind that sticks with me for two days, and figured I'd give it a try. They've got three flavors -- extra strength, migraine, and tension headache. The box said "Homeopathic!" which made me want to put it right back down. But the scientific-looking glowing grid head on the box had little snowflakes around it, which spells tension headache relief in any language. I figured that as a white, middle-class American, it was my duty to spend $8.99 on this space-age technology.

I felt kind of dumb smearing it across my forehead, but you know what? It works. At least a little bit. My forehead feels tingly and cold, kind of like when using IcyHot or something, but it doesn't smell and is only about a 3 on the greasy residue scale of 1-10. If it reduces my tension headache discomfort by half, which it does, then I'm a fan. The best part is that I can apply it as much as I want. The box says I can. Because it's homeopathic. Which is possibly Latin for "placebo." Don't care.

Now, for today's product rant: bubble lights. Chris' parents thoughtfully supplied us with a couple of strands for our tree. I've always loved bubble lights, but never had any myself, and I've certainly never had to install them on a tree by myself before. Bubble lights can go straight to hell. They're a bitch to put on a branch, they're hot, and a half hour later, half the damn things still aren't bubbling. I'm going to let Chris mess with them if he wants, but I'm over them.

Christmas at the beach

Last night we had one of those moments that really belongs in a commercial for either Hallmark or beer. We walked to the Christmas tree lot that's strategically placed between two bars on Garnet, picked out a tree, and carried it home along the boardwalk. Living close enough to a tree lot that you can walk is nearly unheard of in southern California, and taking a tree home via the beach is unimaginable in most of the rest of the country. So it was a touch surreal.

But nice. In a couple of days, when it's all fancied up, I'll take a picture so you can see TinyHouse, Christmas Edition.

Second-Best Typo Ever.

Remember the beef panties? That was the best typo ever. But this one is still pretty good. It came from a doctor who does laser tattoo removal, and he was describing one of his patients as having removed a "professional tattool."

Right up there with the word "prostitot," used to describe the underage whores who run around the bar scene in this neighborhood, I think "tattool" is an excellent moniker for their boyfriends.

Bask in the glowing warm warming glow of "tattool" with me. Thanks.

ICQ Madness

Do you ever wonder what writers talk about during the day in between coming up with synonyms for "dazzling," "rejuvenating," and "shallow rich old women"?

Here we go, kids. Here's today's installment of ICQ Madness. Just so everyone's well aware, I don't print these to entertain others as much as I do to entertain myself. When I look back on this job and wonder how I wasted entire hours on ICQ, I'd like to be able to remember some of the better nonsense to come out of it.

[09:13] Elizabeth R.: Do the Germans, or Dutch, or any other of those clever language people have a word for the crippling feeling that washes over one when one realizes that one should not have so glibly answered "No" when the question was "Do you want to revert to the saved document?"?
[09:14] Brian: Scheiße
[09:14] Elizabeth R.: LOL Yeah, I think that's the one.
[09:16] Brian: Did you lose much?
[09:17] Elizabeth R.: Technically, no. Just one web page of the evil Matt setup doc.... about 2 word pages of terrible copy that I had corrected and SEO'd anew.
[09:18] Elizabeth R.: "Objects loom larger in soul than actual size."
[09:18] Brian: Well, you and I both know how much work that really was. Crap. I'm sorry.
[09:18] Brian: Well, well, well said.
[09:19] Elizabeth R.: Thank you. I have finished the mourning process and am moving on.
[09:19] Brian: In fact, the first real bit of genius I've encountered this week. Cut and paste and into my "phrases that impressed me" folder it goes.
[09:19] Elizabeth R.: Heh. Thank you.

Worst. Local commercial. Ever.

It's Christmas. I'm prepared for a certain amount of crappy senseless product tie-ins. However, I was not prepared for the Liquid Stucco ad. It is quite possibly the worst commercial I have ever seen, including the one for the muffler shop in Fort Lauderdale that also did "brakes and alligment."

Let me set the scene. Liquid Stucco is a product that can be sprayed on the exterior of your home, and is supposedly superior to other stucco type products. The footage is mostly of Liquid Stucco being applied to houses, and the whole commercial is framed in a bright blue "snowflake" theme mat. There are translucent animated snowflakes falling across the screen for the duration of the commercial.

The Liquid Stucco ad excels at its intended purpose: to extol the features and benefits of Liquid Stucco. However, the ad chooses to do this to the tune of "O Christmas Tree." And the lyrics just don't fit. I invite you to sing along, right there at your desk, to get the full impact of the inappropriate nature of their diction.

Oh Liquid Stucco, Oh Liquid Stucco
How I love you, Liquid Stucco

You're waterproof
In times of rain
And fire resistant
In summertime

Oh Liquid Stucco, Oh Liquid Stucco
How I love you, Liquid Stucco

Your 25-year
Warranty
Is head and shoulders above what others
Offer me

Oh Liquid Stucco, Oh Liquid Stucco
How I love you, Liquid Stucco

The Liquid Stucco website has a bad commercial on it, but it's nowhere near as bad as the Christmas version. It will live in my heart forever.

Stuff On My Cat

Tim brought the best website ever to my attention. It makes me giggle.

Stuff On My Cat

As their tagline so succinctly puts it, "Stuff + Cats = Awesome"

Do you ever do that thing

... where you rub your eye, and a little air bubble or something gets stuck beneath the eyelid, and it just kind of sits there for a second before it makes its way out with the tiniest of pops? It's kind of gross but probably one of the many things that Jesus wanted to experience while he was a person. That and the piss shiver. Oh, and... wait, here it comes:

Top Five Things That Jesus Probably Looked Forward To Doing As A Human Being

5. Eyelid air bubble
4. Piss shiver
3. When your nose and sinuses are all stuffed up, and then suddenly everything decompresses, and it kind of makes a sound but you're not sure if anyone else can hear it
2. Cleaning out ears with Q-Tips and putting them in deeper than the package says to because it feels good (Please back the hell off. I know there were no Q-Tips in Jerusalem back in the day. But I figure he could have worked something out.)
1. Making the vwip-vwip-vwip noise with corduroy pants

This is by no means an exhaustive list, as I'm sure Jesus wanted to do some other stuff as well. But it's a good start, and a fitting beginning to the Christmas season. Or something.

Why does God hate me?

Here it is, December first, and it appears that Jeffty Jeff and Heidi still live next door, with nary a sign of moving boxes, moving-stress-induced tantrums, or anything else remotely moving related. I am crushed. God has made the additional taunting gesture of parking a Budget moving van outside at the curb. But considering that it's the first of the month, it's probably just someone else moving into another apartment around here.

Today is also day 1 of my new position as an assistant editor. Yeah. Life has changed a whole lot, let me tell you. Now, as an assistant editor, I spend my days getting shat upon by sales and whinged at by clients. Completely different from when I was a staff writer. That was more along the lines of getting whinged at by sales and shat upon by clients. A change of pace is completely refreshing and exactly what I needed. To celebrate, I'm going to go out and blow my raise on something crazy like a Kit-Kat.

Aaaaand, there it is. My cranky-meter just hit 11. Goodnight, Gracie.

Kono's Quote of the Week

This is a fantastic little feature that is normally found over on Random Musings From the Beach, but I'm taking over this week because I was lucky enough to eat lunch there yesterday, out in the sunshine and fresh air. It's good for what ails ya.

Kono's is a fantastic little breakfast place that also does burgers, right on the boardwalk by Crystal Pier. They glean their quote of the week from their customers who, because this is Pacific Beach, tend toward the stupid. Then again, after standing in line for 45 minutes to get breakfast (a common occurance on Saturdays), even I get a little glassy eyed. So now that it's totally been built way up, here's this week's Kono's Quote of the Week:

"Can we get our eggs done flat?"

I am so sick.

For those of you who have been silently bitching that there's no new Funundrum, you may now feel bad about yourself for expecting so much out of a sick girl. I have certainly already taken a moment to think the worse of you.

Seriously, though, this cold has kept me home from work for two days. That's a lot, not because of my slavish devotion to my job so much as the fact that I'm a pretty healthy person who has the "I'll suck it up and be just fine" disease that I inherited from my dad.

I have got to move somewhere less beautiful. For those of you who live in overall nice climates (Orange County, Fort Lauderdale, Brisbane: yes, you. Ireland, Las Vegas: not so much.), you know how it is. You're lying there, dead or nearly so, wishing that you could have a brief moment of clarity so you can remember if it's time to take more DayQuil, and then you make the mistake of peering outside, Boo Radley style. Outside, there are birds weaving wreaths of roses to bestow upon passers-by, deer puppies are gamboling upon the sweetly scented rolling hills of grass that weren't there just yesterday, and a cherubic satyr beckons you outside with a beguiling tune from his pan pipes.

And, since you feel like ass, you roll over in your manky pile of blankets and go back to sleep. Good times. But I'm going back to work tomorrow, and with Chris busy this week with rehearsals and such, maybe I can find more crap to throw up here. In the mean time -- if you're healthy, enjoy it. Go outside. Just watch out for the satyr droppings.

Sam, we hardly knew ye.

I'm sorry to report that Sam, the World's Ugliest Dog, has died. He was the greatest ugly dog ever, and I'm glad that he got the worldwide recognition that he deserved before he went. If Chris and I can't get our act together to take a photo for Christmas cards, I'm thinking of just sending out cards with Sam on them. Good dog Sam!

URGENT Jeffty Jeff and Heidi Update!

There are indications that the Heidi move-out, as previously described, did not go down exactly as reported.

When Heidi was seen putting lots and lots of tarty clothing items in the back of her truck, it was assumed that she alone was moving out. Who can blame us for this assumption -- we just can't imaging having to put up with either one of those couche-tards for more than a couple of months.

To quote the Dude, "New information has come to light, man. " Over the last couple of days, Heidi has been seen around the house as usual, coming and going with Jeff in his never-ending quest to spread his toolness all over this fine city of ours. But we're still hearing stuff being banged around a lot more than usual next door, and today I heard Heidi talking to a friend. The phrase "since we're moving" surfaced through the Miles Davis that I had put on specifically to drown out that harpy.

Could it be? Not only is next weekend the end of the month, but it's a long weekend as well. Ideal for moving. Moving the hell out of my nice little shoebox duplex*. So. We shall wait, and pray, and wait a little more. If I happen to catch the strumpet outside or something, I think I'll ask her about it, under the pretense of offering to move our car on the blessed day.

*Would not "Shoebox Duplex" be an excellent name for a rock band? Okay, maybe not rock. Maybe like pussy gnome emo.

Overheard from the neighbors.

Guy walking up the sidewalk to Craig's house: "What -- what ethnicicity [sic] am I displaying with this walk?" (slow shuffling heard)

Craig (after a pause): Homeless?

Guy: No. Asian.

Mom's blog.

For years, Mom has periodically sent me little envelopes stuffed with things. What kinds of things? Things I like, or weird things, or things that she thinks are funny and that I might like. It's always a lot of fun. Chris points out that this is her version of a blog, just on paper and put into an envelope.

If I had a scanner set up, I'd scan her stuff and post it. But until then, I think I'll just share with everyone what was in Mom's Blog this time around. Who knows, it might even become a regular feature.

1. "Hogs Wild in Berlin" -- Apparently when the wall came down in Germany, it let a big population of wild boars into downtown Berlin. Wildschweine (VILT-SHVYN-uh) rummage through the garbage like raccoons. The picture, of a mama boar and three boar puppies crossing the street, is very Abbey Road.

2. "Back Like A Fox" -- An article from the FJC Hornet about how the Fox Theatre is coming back to life, raising money for its restoration by showing outdoor movies. This has been proven to be very popular. My mom is even quoted in the story. Punctuation errors have been corrected.

Fullerton resident and Fox Theatre promoter Susan Rhein was helping the more than 50 volunteers clean up as the crowd departed. She said that there was still a lot of work to be done until the Fox is completely restored.

Volunteers are gathering again at the Fox on Sept. 11, 2005 to keep working on the odds and ends of the old building. "Anyone can show up and help," Susan said. "Bring a hard hat though." She added that if anyone forgets a hard hat, they have a few extra.

3. A new monkey species has been discovered. Key quote: "The whiskered, three-foot-long tree dweller utters a loud call scientists have termed a 'honk-bark.'" I'm imagining the sound from that Home Grown song "Chula Vista."

4. Apparently people judge you by your first name, a theory that I have always believed but never seen in print. Says here that children whose names start with lo-, ta-, and qua-, or end with -isha or -ious do far worse in school than their white differently-named schoolmates.

5. Mice can, and do, sing. Douglas Adams had it right all along.

6. Fullerton High School used to have a kayak club, back in the 30's. Every student of FUHS has heard the celebrated stories of kayak races on the sunken front lawn. They would flood it and put the boats out there, right along Chapman Ave. Mom sent a great article about the history of the kayak club, with a picture of them lined up on the beach in Corona Del Mar for "Pirate Days." Yar. This was back before school activities got crappy.

7. A list of the 10 worst jobs in the science field, with the #1 worst job being "Orangutan Pee Collector."

8. Finally, an entry for what appears to be a Trader Joe's coloring contest. The picture is of a girl alligator, who's painting a picture.

The dream is over.

Last weekend, a strange thing happened. We heard Heidi (of Jeffty Jeff and Heidi) ask Craig (the dude next door with the balcony) if she could use his phone. Sure, said Craig, who says sure to just about anything, because he's that kind of guy. It drove me crazy trying to figure out why, in the year of our Lord 2005, a 23 year old girl would need to use someone else's land line.

Today, all became clear. As I was walking down the street towards my building, I saw Heidi's truck pulled ass-first up the driveway. I had to beat down the sudden twinge of possibility that had sprung up within me. No, I told myself. There's no way she's moving out. They've only lived together for five months, have no hobbies or music in common, and hate each other's friends. What could possibly go wrong? Then, as I drew closer, I saw the trunk open and the back of the truck filled with garish strumpet costumes. The trash bags full of belongings outside their front door confirmed my glorious suspicions.

I fished the mail out of the box as quickly as I could, walked to my door like my ass was on fire, and alerted Chris to the goodness taking place without. "Heidi's moving out!" I hissed. "Her shit's already in her truck!" We jumped up and down like Halliburton employees after a major natural disaster, and reveled in our good fortune.

No more high pitched squeals during drunken parties at 3 am.

No more rusty pink bike cluttering up our back yard.

No more tiny socks with pink dingle balls in the dryer.

Our dinner tasted a little better, the night air seemed a little crisper. I wanted to shout "Huzzah!" and send a passing beggar boy to the butcher shop, to buy the biggest goose in the window. For it is Christmas Day!

Couche-tard

Yeah, you heard me. Couche-tard. According to Aidy, this is a chain of convenience stores in Montreal. They use an owl for their logo and are owned by Circle-K. Now you know everything there is to know about Couche-tard, so you're authorized to spend the rest of your days challenging fellow human beings with the hilarious reality of "Couche-tard."

Like Aidy said, "Imagine combining retard, douche bag, and coochie all in one curse phrase! That’s couche-tard."

Peanut butter.

Most of the peanut butter you see in the store has a lot more stuff in it than just peanuts. Sugar, artificial flavors, starch, other stuff. This is pretty much okay, becaus all the extra stuff makes it creamy and tasty and generally good.

Then I found Trader Joe's peanut butter. It's just got peanuts in it. No extra stuff. Now I know you're expecting me to go into a "Natural Stuff Is Better" tirade, but I'm not going to. It's softer than regular peanut butter, so it spreads a lot easier. That's about it. It's still full of fat because it's made from peanuts. I guess it has less sugar, so that's good. I would buy it again, because buying pure foodstuffs makes me feel like a better person.

That is, until I got me a jar of Henry's peanut butter. Like its counterpart at Trader Joe's, it's made of 100 percent peanuts. Unlike Trader Joe's peanut butter, it's runny as all hell. When you try to stir it up, you find that it's more solid the further down you dig, giving rise to the unpleasant realization that until you get about halfway through the jar, you're eating peanut butter-flavored peanut oil. Kinda disgusting.

But now we're about halfway through the jar, and it's edible. But still runny. More of an exercise in dipping prowess than sandwich-eating skills. So I guess what I'm saying is if you were raised on Skippy Super Chunk, like I was, stick with it. It's not worth the hassle. Get closer to nature in another venue.

IQ test to the rescue.

I was feeling a little down today. Maybe because my low-paying job was wigging me out, maybe because the teriyaki smell won't come off my hands (gonna have to resort to vinegar here pretty soon), maybe because I'm putting off writing another damn cover letter because I'd rather play crappy internet games. It doesn't matter.

What picked me up was this here free IQ test. It's an actual IQ test, run by Psychology Today, so it has to be good.

At any rate, it reminded me that I'm better than most people, so I will try to be more charitable to those around me who are less intellectually fortunate. Ha ha, no. I will just take advantage of them and then beat them to death with my abnormally large brain.

Attention Tim.

In Fort Lauderdale, standard poodles are noble creatures, beset with the task of roaming the streets of Rio Vista and challenging all strangers with the French-accented epithet of "Ah weel heet chyoo."

Here in San Diego, standard poodles are debased so far as to be helper dogs for crazy fat ladies.

Photo of Pope John Paul II and Bono Surfaces!

You saw it on Funundrum first, kids. There's nowhere else on the internet, according to Google, that has this here photo. Back in 1999, Bono met with Pope John Paul II. The story goes that Il Papa put on Bono's glasses, but did not allow any photos to be taken... but we all knew better. Now, after the Good Lord took John Paul back home, the rest of us get to see the picture we've been imagining for six long years. Photo credit: Rolling Stone magazine. Please don't sue me.

Best. Typo. Ever.

I don't normally do this, but I'm going to have to re-post something that I already saw on Dave Barry's blog. It's simply the finest opening sentence typo that I've ever seen.

Pennsylvania company recalls 94,400 lbs of beef
WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Quaker Maid Meats Inc. on Tuesday said it would voluntarily recall 94,400 pounds of frozen ground beef panties that may be contaminated with
E. coli....

By the time you read this, the link will be broken because someone will have caught the error, so I won't even bother. In the meantime, please feel free to conjure up one or more of the following images:

1) a big stack o' panty shaped beef patties, such as you might find at Costco.
2) someone patiently forming ground beef around their loins to fashion panties, sandcastle style.

Saving the world one fake movie at a time.

Please to enjoy today's installment of ICQ Madness.

[10:08] Hubert: from a live site i'm doing a review for:
[10:08] Hubert: "He has also authored a widely read piece on nursing home litigation entitled 'Dirty Harry Takes on the Nursing Home Industry: Practical Advice from a Vigilante Hero."

[10:08] Elizabeth R.: No. Just... no.

[10:08] Hubert: what in the...?

[10:08] Elizabeth R.: Is Dirty Harry wearing beef panties whilst liberating the nursing home?

[10:09] Hubert: we can only hope
[10:09] Hubert: I heard his "Rambo Shanks Negligent Property Owners" article is a classic

[10:09] Elizabeth R.: Shit yeah

[10:10] Hubert: "Chuck Norris and Michael Dudikoff Fight Medical Malpractice Ninjas"

[10:11] Elizabeth R.: hahaha
[10:12] Elizabeth R.: "Steven Seagal Throws Some Badly-Foleyed Air Punches At Defective Product Pushers"
[10:13] Elizabeth R.: the list is endless really

[10:13] Hubert: truly

I should have known better.

I just walked down to 7-11 to buy a phone card so I could find a hotel room in Baja for New Year's. I picked one up, handed it to the beaner behind the counter, and watched him get confused at me. But, in the end, I guess he decided that I was allowed to call Mexico after all and he sold me the card.

I took a look at it on my way out -- the damn thing was all in Spanish. For a tiny little evanescent moment, I was outraged that I didn't even get a cursory amount of Ingles. But I got over it really quickly -- I've outfoxed them at their own game, and understand their crazy backwards language. Ha.

Turns out the joke really is on me though. I got home, got all ready with a pad of paper, my phone card, and the phone, and...... all the hotels have 800 numbers for us gringos. Devil!

eBay auction of the day

I don't even know what to do with this. It's just 18 right shoes. I guess for a really styling amputee, it's a great idea. Oh, and they want a minimum of $100 for them.
_______________________________________

This auction is for 18 right sided mens athletic shoes. These are not pairs these are only the right side. These are shoes that have been put on in the store ( so used very lightly). Almost all of them are size 9 a few are 9.5.

Attention hurricane victims.

Funundrum will attempt to increase blogging frequency, now that 60% of my readership has electricity again.

Rock on, Fort Lauderdale. Rock on.

Quote of the day.

When asked why she recently got her boobs embiggened, Sharon Osbourne replied that it was because "I don't want my nipples looking for coins on the street."

Hey Astros and White Sox.

FINISH THIS GAME, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. I am very very tired, but need to support the Pale Hose.

Update: Sox just scored in the top of the 14th. The World Series gods have heard my plea.

Yay Sox, for you are not from Texas.

Next Door Neighbor Update

It appears that Mikey and Stephanie have moved out, and his cousin, Bryce, and Bryce's girlfriend, Verdose, have moved in. This is the apartment from whence came the fence-pisser, for those of you keeping score.

Bryce just about lost it when I told him about the fence-pisser. "Yeah, that sounds like Mikey's dirtbag friends." We chatted a while about the crime in the neighborhood, including recent car break-ins and the fact that all four of Verdose's tires got slashed when she parked in the alley one time. And they've only lived here for a few weeks, so that's a nice welcome.

But he seemed very nice, and not a standard PB tool. I was able to give him the Chris and Liz Official Noise Ordinances with no arguments. And he listens to Coldplay really loud, so he can't be all bad. And he used to live in the apartments next to Taco Surf, where the reggae guy from Hennessey's lives. And he's friends with The Dude on the corner.

I'm just hoping that he turns out to be cool, and not another total douchebag. If he continues to be cool, then Jeffty Jeff and Heidi will be the only official douchebags in the area. Tuberculosis Stoner Girl might qualify, but she's so darn entertaining I can't take issue with her.

Too much time on your hands?

Why not create a scale model of San Francisco? In Jell-o?

Elizabeth Hickok did.

Best design request ever.

Today a client called a designer I work with, and made what I'm sure you'll agree is the most entertainingly bizarre design request ever.

He wanted the background color on his site to be a different color. What color, you ask?

"Can you make the background the same color as a Lebanese girl's skin?"

This is what's wrong with America.

We went to Dave & Buster's on Saturday night with the intention of having a few beers, playing a little Skee-Ball, and possibly allowing Chris to avenge his previous bitter defeat at that one racing game.

We ordered some appetizers and a round of pints at the bar; as we were finishing them, a different bartender came around, pointed at our empty pint glasses (fig. 1), and asked us if we wanted more. "Yes," we said, "please bring us two more pints of Bass."

Based on the above exchange, one would think that our request was pretty clear. What she brought us were two 20-ounce cider glasses (fig. 2) of Bass. Now, I didn't think much of it, as the switchification of glass types like this is pretty common in other civilized countries. But when we got the bill, they had charged us a dollar more for the bigger pints.

After protesting that we hadn't asked for the extra 4 ounces, he did the right thing: apologized for the misunderstanding and told us to enjoy our evening.

Ha ha! Of course he didn't! He's a cog in the capitalistic machine. What he did do is take away our beers and pour them into pint glasses. Seriously. We watched him. He took away our 20 ounce beers and poured them into 16 ounce glasses. I don't even have a snarky comment for how stupid this was.

I wasn't going to actually hit them.

On Saturday night, when Chris and I were driving home from my parents' house, I was proceeding down Diamond St. at a safe speed. Ahead of me, I saw two PB Girls® walking across the middle of the street, totally not paying attention. The way their logic works, they are Pretty, so they don't have to. It's the same logic that means my neighbors are welcome to come home at 3am, screeching like Yoko Ono on fire.

Under normal circumstances, I'd slow down well in advance of anyone crossing the street in this jaywalker-friendly town. But I figured these girls needed a little jumpstart in the common sense department.

I'd like to reiterate, for the parents in the audience, that I was going a safe speed and at no time endangered any lives, stupid or otherwise. I just decided that I wasn't going to slow down gradually.

Anyway, once I was about 50 feet away from them, they both looked up and did the Dance of Girly Terror. Jazz hands, stomping feet, and all. Their screams were so high-pitched that dogs probably started barking somewhere. By this time I had come to a full stop, somewhat so they could get out of the way, mostly because Chris and I were sobbing with laughter.

Part II: As I drove past them, I got pelted with the epithet of "Fucking bitch!" and a half-hearted, open palmed slap on the roof of my car (so as to not damage her nails). I lived off the glory of that moment for the rest of the night.

Yay!

I cheated a little at the end, and left some of our vacation to the imagination, but the Argentina blog is done. This means that I can get back to sorting out the pictures to a manageable size (apologies to my parents and grandma for having to sit through all of them) and producing Funundrum full time.

Any requests for further pictures are encouraged, but other people's travel photos are never much fun. I appreciate everyone's interest this far.

Tomayto, tomahto.

From the same coworker who brought us "Why don't all the poor people in Africa just go get jobs?", Funundrum now proudly presents:

"Huh. This paternity lawsuit website says that the word 'paternity' is sexist and should be replaced with the word 'parentage.' I kind of see their point. I mean, it doesn't always have to be about determining the father."

Funundrum: "Yes, dude, actually it does. Establishing paternity means determining the father of a child. So the word 'paternity' is correct 100% of the time. End of story."

Coworker: "But, I don't know, in certain cases you might have to establish the mother."

To graciously borrow from Mark Twain: let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.

Neighbor update.

I bet while I was gone, everyone was wondering what happened to my obnoxious neighbor, the stoner girl with tuberculosis who lives in the apartment outside my bathroom (to distinguish from Jeffty Jeff and Heidi.)

Well, I'm here to let you know.

Apparently, she has chosen this very special day to crank Chris Isaak. Seriously. She's even singing along. My counterstrike is Orchestra Baobab. I'm hoping that foreign words, plus horns, minus corporate commercial crap = neighbor's head exploding.

Funundrum will keep you updated with any forthcoming details.

Alright, I'm back.

And I'm still way behind on email and sleep and stuff. But Chris and I had a great time, and we've started a new blog to document it and put up some of the more compelling pictures. While I'm doing that, Funundrum will be a bit thin. It may take about a week, so you can either read as I go, or wait until it's all done.

Check out Argentina 2005!

Che boludo

That's Argentinian for 'what's up asshole'. I am a fan. Anyway, we are at an internet cafe in puerto iguazu.... worst keyboard layout ever. Would you like an ñ? I can give you an ñ. But no quotation marks. Crazy. We are having a great time and not getting sick. The local beer is really great. I sent all of you postcards. This is just killing time between snack-tea time and dinner time, which is around 10 pm. I could get used to this. So life is good, and there will be plenty of Funundrum for all once I get back. Chao. ---actually how people say goodbye here. Very European.

I am O to the U to the T.

It's 11pm, and we've made it as far as Chris' parents' house. I'm dead tired but still very excited to be getting on to Argentina tomorrow. As far as I can tell, Funundrum will go unattended for the next week and a half or so. However, internet cafes are plentiful and cheap, so you may be getting a post on the run here and there.

Ta!

Funundrum Unscripted.

Are you searching for your own personal slogan? A tagline that sums up your very essence in a tidy, memorable phrase? Search no longer. This slogan generator will ensure that you never suffer a branding problem ever again. Some of my favorites:

A Funundrum is forever.

They're yummy for your Funundrum.

Ho ho ho, green Funundrum.

Step into the Funundrum.

Actually, the entire site that I got the slogan generator is good for a rip-roarin' time.

http://www.thesurrealist.co.uk/

Urge to kill rising

I just spent like 10 minutes posting pics from Katrina in Fort Lauderdale (before the evil broad got ugly) and stupid Blogger crashed right when I published the post.

Anyway, to pass the time while I calm down, here's a picture that Chris' dad sent me. It's of two cute puppies. What the picture doesn't show is that the dominant puppy is eating the other one. Whole. Like a snake does. In the interest of good taste, I chose not to post the rest of the series of photos, as they're pretty gruesome. Enjoy!

"As Mae West once said..."

...This phrase tops the list of "things that you don't ever want to hear at a gay restaurant, but probably will." Because gaytown has the only restaurants open during hurricanes in Fort Lauderdale, you just gotta suck it up and overhear things like that. But anyway. Here's some pics from Katrina, back before she got ugly. I hear the kids got the day off today too, due to lovely Rita. Bastards. In San Diego, we never get any natural disaster days off.

Worst. Dental. Site. Ever.

I almost hate giving this guy the link traffic, but I just can't let it go by. Hubert found the site while researching keywords. It's simply the worst dentistry site ever. I strongly urge you to turn on your sound, for the amazing music. Also there is a DentCam, which has streaming video of two different chairs in the office. Solid.

http://www.pearlywhites.com/

I peed a little reading this.

From my friend Vince at work:

Check out the email I got from my health insurance company today below. Here is the response I sent - I'm going to hell:

From: "Frank D" To: "Vincent M"
Subject: RE: E-mail from tkfmc.org

Unfortunately, that department does not have access to e-mail. At this time, the only way to contact our claims department is by calling (559) 734-1321.

I apologize for the incontinence.

Frank D
Foundation for Medical Care

Dear Frank,
Incontinence isn't something you should feel you have to apologize for. Millions of Americans suffer similar problems every day. It's nothing to feel ashamed about, but a private matter you should discuss with your family physician. Chances are, it's a symptom of something that can be treated easily.

Don't beat yourself up, kid. Everyone has an accident every now and then.

Sincerely,
Vincent M

Timmy would be proud.

I was at the gym, pounding out the last few minutes on the Precor machine, and I started to look around to plan my next move. I decided on crunches. There are 3 crunch benches. Two of them were in use, and the third had a man sitting on it. But he wasn't doing crunches. He was yakking on his phone, as he had been for the last ten minutes. He was Greasy Phone Douchebag -- you know the type.

So I approached him, friendly as could be, big smile on my face, and pointed at the machine. "Can I use that?" I asked him. He looked up and actually gave me the "just a minute" finger. What followed was just bizarre; I reproduce it faithfully here for my readers. The spelling goes all funny to indicate the point at which I inadvertently went Noo Yawk for a minute. I do that when I have to look tough.

Greasy Phone Douchebag: "just a minute finger", goes back to talking on phone
Me: "No, I'd like to use the machine now."
GPD: "I'm using it right now."
Me: "You're talking on the phone!"
GPD: "No, I'm using the machine."
Me: "No, you're not. Yoo tawkin' on da phone, or yoo yoosin' da machine?"
GPD: "I'm doing both."
Me: "I'd like to see you try!"

At this point, the GPD slowly lowers himself onto the bench, and actually starts doing crunches with the phone up to his ear. After a few, he looks back to see if I'm still there. Hells yes, I wouldn't miss this show for the world.

About 30 seconds later, he wrapped up the phone conversation, and continued doing crunches in silence. At this point I went on upstairs, where I knew there were plenty of machines free.

Attention Next Door Neighbor Heidi:

I can hear the dryer. It is currently drying a load of my laundry. I can hear it because we live in TinyHouse. I am especially cognizant of the dryer's progress because I am waiting for a clean pair of socks to wear to the gym. I am fully aware that you are waiting to put a load of clothes in the dryer.

Every time you go out there and open the dryer door to see if my stuff is dry, you are only making it take longer. Knock it the hell off.

Bad Copy of the Day Award

This isn't necessarily bad copy, at least not on the level of Bombs Over Your Eyeball, but it still made me stop and say, "Oh." It's from a personal injury/criminal trial lawyer.

"Among all children under the age of fourteen killed in DUI accidents in 2000, nearly half were passengers in a car driven by someone who had been drinking."

This is what I call a total non-statistic. It sounds a lot like a statistic -- it names a group of people, subdivides it, and assigns a quality to the subdivided group. But what is it really saying? That 50% of young DUI victims are in cars driven by a drunk adult. Presumably the other half of young DUI victims die in crashes caused by a driver in another car.

We can therefore conclude from this brilliant statistic that 100% of children killed in DUI accidents are in cars at the time. Note to self: do not retain a lawyer with facts this bad.

Attention.

I haven't forgotten about you people. As soon as something interesting happens anywhere in my vicinity, you lot will be the first to know.

This is the most amazing thing that Tim has ever seen.

It's the famous bag made of plastic bags. Yes, it's really made of plastic bags. No, I don't remember how many bags. Maybe 30. But I love it and I take it everywhere. Chris' mom just gave me approximately 8 million more bags, so now I can be "the lady who makes stuff out of plastic bags" for the rest of my life. Better start getting me cats for birthdays and Christmas, people. It's going to take a long time to amass acceptable cat volume.

Just a nice thing.

I was talking to Vince at work, and we were talking about how the word "heaps" is underused in this country. He told me this story:

"There was the Australian guy on some spring break trip I went on in college, and they were doing some sort of dating game type thing, and the MC tells the guy to give the girl his best compliment, and the guy goes 'Back home Oi leeve on an Emyew fahm, we got whole heaps a emyews. And I'd give em all up for you.'"

And I thought it was a rather nice compliment. For all you Aussies that think that this anecdote makes you lot look too soft, Vince hastened to inform me that the same fellow later exposed himself to the crowd. So.

For Nathan.

It's not Saturday, but still.

Meet Aidy and Rob!

I got this picture several days ago, and put off posting it because I was going to do something spectacularly clever with it. Clever never happened. So here are my friends Aidy and Rob. They are awesome. Aidy dislikes cats and children, but enjoys Wyland and kerning. Rob likes fishing and hates wearing real shoes. I'm guessing on that last one because 1) who likes wearing shoes? and 2) Rob's pretty easygoing and likes most stuff.

Riddle of the garbage.

Some of you may be aware that Chris and I don't always get along with our neighbors. We're not always on the same page. We don't always see eye-to-eye. They're fishing, we're cutting bait. We enjoy a quiet, beach bungalow-type existence. They do everything as loudly as retards with charley horses.

You may be wondering what that tension has to do with our upcoming trip to Argentina. Well, we're leaving on a Thursday. We're coming back two Tuesdays after that.

For two glorious weeks, our unattended trash cans will languish in the fetid stink of the alley, playing hosts to the little colony of maggots that has already come to know them as home. (No, I'm not kidding. I have to hose that crap down.) You see, Jeffty Jeff's muscles are only zoned for surfing and preening. None of his body mass is tagged for any sort of functional activity like dragging the trash cans all of three feet to the edge of the driveway on a Sunday evening. And certainly no one can expect Heidi to touch grody things. Someday, I'd like to somehow communicate to her that her boyfriend is Retardo Montalban. I'm just afraid that after I ripped off her giant Spider-Man-sized sunglasses in an effort to make eye contact, I'd be met with a dead, vacant stare that would haunt me as I lay awake that night. I think she's made of plastic, and it scares me.

So place your bets now, folks. I'm not planning on telling them that we're leaving. What will it take for our neighbors to take out the trash? Oh, this is so exciting. It's like Fear Factor, but without the cash prizes and self-loathing.

Truth more ridiculous than fiction.

I have to hand it to Yahoo News. Just one day after The Onion posted its excellent hurricane coverage, Yahoo News made a brave foray into the world of satire. At least it should be satire. But I don't think it is.

"Young alligators at an alligator farm. Hurricane Katrina has had an unforeseen effect on the French fashion industry, which says it fears it will be hit by a shortage of Louisiana alligator hides in coming months."

The fuzz cracks down.

I was so happy to have my camera with me when we walking along the boardwalk yesterday. Otherwise, I wouldn't have caught this heartwarming scene of underage girls getting carded on the beach.

It's like a Norman Rockwell painting came to life.

I'm sure they just got hassled and had to pour out the rest of their case of warm Natty Ice. But it was funny nonetheless.

PB parking: as bad as in NYC?

Funundrum reports, you decide.

I pass these signs on Garnet St. every time I walk to the gym, and I only really took a good look at them the other day.

Now, the "no parking" on Tuesday mornings I get. But I'd love to know who you have to be to deserve 2 hour parking versus 15 minute parking.

How to creep out Chris.

As I so often do, I was talking to Chris while he was in the shower. We were arguing about FEMA's response time in regard to finding housing for hurricane survivors. Apparently, Carnival Cruises approached the government on Tuesday with an offer to charter three of their ships for housing purposes. FEMA didn't get back to them until Saturday. I think this is a shameful example of bureaucracy gone bad -- I just don't believe that they couldn't have shut 4 guys in a room and told them that they couldn't come out until they sorted out places to sleep for everyone.

Chris says I need to cut them more slack, and they really couldn't do it any faster because they've never had to deal with a tragedy of quite those proportions.

At this point, I was over it, done doing my hair, and really didn't care anymore. "You're right," I said, and walked out of the bathroom.

For the next 10 minutes, Chris couldn't stop asking if I was mad, or what he could do to make it better, and am I sure that I'm not mad, and what's wrong?

He just got creeped out because he's never seen me give up that easily.

Goodwill Drama

It was a nice day yesterday and, having very little to do, we walked up to the Goodwill store here in Pacific Beach. We reckoned that it would have pretty good stuff, being in the swank part of town and all.

Chris found a cream colored silk Bill Blass shirt for $4. All I got was a glimpse into someone else's emotional baggage. It was funny nonetheless.

Her, looking at a simple wedding dress: "Hey, honey, look at this. I could wear this to the ball."
Him: "Oh yeah? You like it? .... It's a little fancy."
Her: "I guess you're right, it's really more of a wedding dress."

Her: "I wish WE could have had a wedding."



Her: "I hate you for that."

Someone call Edith Wharton, Henry James, and Nathaniel Hawthorne -- there's a book in there somewhere.

I've had enough.

I've actually had to stop reading the news. It's just too awful to think that everything in New Orleans is underwater or simply gone. As I was telling Tim earlier today, my heart weeps for the Garden District. It's selfish, I know, not to be as torn up about the other parts of town, but I don't think anything has to make sense right now. I find myself thinking the strangest things, like wishing that I had taken more pictures when Chris and I were there in January. I'll never forget when we were sitting in that cozy little jazz bar on Bourbon, getting progressively drunker on Abita beer, and they played "It Had To Be You." It was pouring big, heavy, Southern rain outside, and the only time we braved it that night was to dart next door and back to grab a quick hurricane because the Abita wasn't working fast enough. They had the heater on in the bar, possibly to compensate for the fact that all the doors and windows were open to let the music out; the humidity clung to everything, a pleasantly smothering sensation.

The next morning, we dragged ass down to Cafe du Monde, because it's what's done. Just as we were tucking into our evilly sugared beignets, the sax player standing on the sidewalk played "It Had To Be You." We laughed, and everything felt right. Everything felt right before, and everything has felt right since, but at that moment, it was tangible.

I'm glad I got to show Chris the houses, and cemeteries, and 300-year-old grime, and a city with a living, breathing soul made up of voodoo and whorehouses and cathedrals and oak trees. I just hope that someday, I can go back and see something of the city I remember.

Summer of Dave 2005 pictures

I encourage you to check out some of the cool photos from this year's Summer of Dave. They have been thoughtfully posted by my wonderful boyfriend and you can find them here. Also be sure to check out Brian's crazy body double.

TinyHouse Update

My house is so small...


"HOW SMALL IS IT?"




My house is so small that I can vacuum the whole thing from one plug.

That is all.

Most tiring fun weekend ever.

This weekend, I felt that I had to outdo my friends in Florida who were busy enjoying all the hustle, bustle, and adventure that a hurricane brings. So we hit up a Dave Matthews Band show in Chula Vista on Thursday, and followed it up by another one on Saturday in beautiful Carson. We had a fantastic time, and as previously mentioned, partied like rock stars. The tailgating was so extensive that when we came home, Chris had to go out to the garage to "recycle the trunk." Good times, good times.

Now that Summer of Dave 2005 has drawn to a close, there's nothing to do but to look forward to Argentina. We bought our world map today in anticipation. Now that we're regularly going on trips together to other countries, it's about time. The idea is that we get a world map mounted on foamboard, and put pins in places where we've been. Chris gets one color for places he's been, I get another color for places I've been, and we use a third color for places we go together. It's an idea we got from Chris' cousin Becky, and it pretty much kicks ass. The only problem is that I refuse to overpay a framing store to do it, but the only foamboard that I've found is way too small for the map. I'll just have to get creative with an X-acto knife and packing tape, because I'm dying to have this thing up on the wall.

Whaaaaa??

I had the following exchange with a girl behind the counter at Giovanni's in Fullerton:

Me: "Can I please have some extra vinegar?"

Her: "You mean right now?"


........riiiiiiiiiiiight.

Anticipate delays.

I've been partying like a rock star since Thursday. No time for blogging, Dr. Jones.

Viva la Summer of Dave.

Christian says "You rock!"

Everyone who knows Funundrum, knows that Funundrum is really take-it-or-leave-it on the children situation. One notable exception is Keli's kid, Christian. I used to work with Keli at CubanCo. Cruises, and her kid is funny. He also answers to Fat Kid, but he's not fat. Just the tallest 3-year-old you've ever met. Here's just about the best picture I've ever seen of any kid ever. I can't stop laughing at it.

A public service announcement from Funundrum.

It doesn't matter if you're a size 2 or a size 22, ass crack sweat is nasty.

To the girl who was walking up the stairs in front of me at the gym, please: for the love of god, buy at least one pair of underwear. I will even give you $5 to buy a nice pair from Victoria's Secret. Well, they're only $5 each if you buy 5, but if you live in PB and look like you do, chances are you've got $25 to spend on underwear.

Somebody please explain.

Usually I don't have to stoop to watching live tv, as I have everything Tivo'd for me. But, alas, not a whole lot recorded today, so live tv it was.

Anyway, can anyone explain to me why KFC (for those of you old enough to remember, this stands for Kentucky Fried Chicken, but they had to change it because the meat they use isn't really chicken but you only believe that if you're totally crazy) is using "Sweet Home Alabama" in all their ads?

It pisses me off every single time.

Inconsiderate should not equal reasonable.

I just spent the commute home steeling myself for another admonishing conversation with my inconsiderate neighbors, Jeff and Heidi. They keep putting non-recyclable stuff in the recycling bin, resulting in the recycling truck not taking it away. I went over there to offer to help Jeffty to empty it, so I could point out the large, raised, caps, sans serif print on the bin that outlines what you can and can't recycle. He took all blame and offered to do it by himself. Then he apologized.

How can such inconsiderate idiots be so conciliatory and respectful? It's only when I actually confront them with something -- otherwise, it's banging around and shrieking at 2am. Anyway, I was just rewarded with the sweet, sweet sound of the two of them hefting the bin into the dumpster in the alley.

Now, I just have to figure out how to get them to behave like polite adults without having to remind them once or twice a week.

Key Overheard Quotes:

Jeffty Jeff: "That wasn't so bad."
Heidi: "Now my hands feel all icky."

Body Double Alert!

Bad Copy of the Day Award

Both of these descriptions are about LASIK, and qualify as perhaps the most squirm-inducing copy to ever win the BCD award.

"The laser focuses and refocuses on your eye 4000 times per second. Remember the Gulf War when we watched a missile fly down a chimney? The laser uses the very same technology to most precisely focus the treatment on your cornea."

"The Ladar Vision 4000 uses a flying spot technique. In each treatment spot there is a little plume of smoke if you would, technically, Argon Fluoride Gas. This little puff of smoke can interfere with the next treatment spot."

We're declaring war on myopia, people.

Darwin Award contender alert.

As seen on the corner of Cass and Diamond: A woman, riding her bike, holding her four-year-old daughter on her hip. You heard me.

Now, the woman would probably survive any untoward incident. However, she would be eligible for a Darwin Award in the event that she negated herself from the gene pool by killing her child.

Keep dreaming that impossible dream, lady. Reach for the stars.

Why I love Australia # 746

Since I inherited Jesse's speakers (I'll miss you, but thanks, man) I was listening to Triple J at work. The morning guys were talking about Madonna's accident. "It could have been a lot worse," one of them said. "I mean, that's how Christopher Reeve got hurt. Although, imagine how inspiring it would be! She would be out there on stage, in her chair, with the pointy bra on, and she, I mean, she couldn't gyrate much any more, just from the neck up, but maybe her headset could be set up to send verbal commands to her chair so she could still kind of, you know, roll around with her dancers."

All hail Google.

Four months after I started this little blog, I am finally listed on Google. Go ahead, try it. Google "funundrum," and I'm the #2 entry, once you take away the crap ebay and lycos fake results. The #1 result is for a band who has an album called Funundrum, so I'll give them that.

I'm still not as cool as my friend Craig, who is still the only person I know that comes up as #1 under his name.

Update: I'm no longer #2, at least all the time. It seems to fluctuate. If you are geeky, you know this is all part of the Dance. Unfortunately, I am too lazy to learn how to SEO my own site.

I did not smile.

As I was waiting at the stoplight, I watched the guy on his ultra-expensive-looking bike ride down the sidewalk towards me, and I did not smile.

When I looked for, and found, his yellow "I support people with one ball" bracelet, I did not smile.

As he slowly came to a halt, so he could cross the street in front of me, I still did not smile.

For the duration of the eternity that it took him to cleanly fall over on his left side, into a towering bougainvillea bush, I did not smile.

Mercifully, the light turned green about the time that he picked himself up out of the foliage.

Then, I smiled.

Jeffty Jeff gets a gold star today!

My duplex neighbor, who moved in in June, just took the trash cans out to the alley for the very first time. They grow up so quickly, don't they? I got a little teary-eyed to see him -- he was so proud to do it all by himself. Way to go, Jeff!

You'd think it would have been Tang.

This story didn't just happen yesterday, nor the day before that. It may have been when I was a little girl, or shortly before I was born. It doesn't really matter, and I've always been taught not to let the facts get in the way of a good story.

My dad used to have a can of Pepsi with the space shuttle on it. He liked it, and thought it was pretty neat. He wanted to hang on to it because, hey, it might be worth something to someone someday.

Mom didn't think as much of the can, or its collectable properties. She just saw an old can of Pepsi. The debate went back and forth for decades, maybe even months, and dad finally gave up and opened the Pepsi. He may have even drank the Pepsi. Again, this story is such an apocryphal chestnut that it could really go either way. After he cracked the top on that sucker, he was finally on equal footing with mom. Now they both saw a worthless old can. So that was that.

Come on back to the present day. They were over at TinyHouse, and I was showing them the finer points of eBay. On a whim, I looked up that old can.



Turns out that NASA history can be yours, for the low low price of $6.99, plus shipping.

Update: All the space shuttle Pepsi cans available on eBay are empty. I'm assuming that this means a full can would go for, oh, 10-15 thousand dollars. Dad, you are thus far vindicated.

Best onramp picture ever.

When I was on my way to Kenny's birthday party a couple of weeks ago, I saw this by the side of the onramp, and caught the picture. It just makes me happy.

Virgin Atlantic Understands Me.

I know this is what their marketing people want me to think, but I've always somewhat desperately wanted to be as cool as Virgin Atlantic. Until today, I've never had an accurate way to measure up. Fortunately, Virgin provides. Witness the "11 Commandments of a Jetrosexual."

By my estimation, I'm already pulling 9 of 11 possible commandments here. Now, I admit, I don't travel economy to keep myself humble, but I'm sure the means justify the ends.

What's that? Oh. Schipol Airport. In Amsterdam. Because of the sweet reclining sleepy chairs, especially the ones back in the quiet alcove by the chapel. Shhh. Don't tell anyone. My second favorite (second only because it's kind of an evil, dark secret) is Heathrow. It's an awe-inspiring experience, during which you feel as though you're enduring some sort of communal rite of passage, akin to walking on coals at a bad corporate retreat. But better.

Chris' favorite is Burbank, "because you get to feel like the Beatles." Good enough for me.