Why does the one Sunday that you want to go out for Sunday breakfast always coincide with the same morning as the L.A. Marathon? I can't believe that it is that time once again for the thrill of victory and the agony of people that secrete. Thoughts of waffles subside; as you are barricaded within your neighborhood streets against your will. I am convinced that one of my Constitutional rights has been violated. Where is the Republican party when you need them?
The Sunday L.A. Times is useless. The editors have combined all of the sections into one. Laker scores and obits are right next to each other. Rick Santorum is on Meet The Press espousing the value of chastity belts. There is no football to watch. My a.d.d. is on overdrive. I am a prisoner in my own home because some skinny Ethiopian is running down Sunset Boulevard.
I decide to watch the race on tv. For some unknown reason I get excited when they pass by a landmark that I recognize. It is the same dry cleaners that I drove by yesterday. But today, "FAROUK'S EXTRA DRY CLEANERS", takes on a new luster.
Right away African men and women take to the lead. Marathon experts start spouting that training in high altitudes is the reason for the athletes' superiority. I surmise that if I had my ass being chased by Joseph Kony I'd be hauling it too.
Before changing the course a few years ago, the marathon used to run right by our house. Which was fun for the first few hours. We waved at the cyclists. Tried to find an ounce of fat on the elite women runners. Recognized a few "B" celebrities. "Oh look, there goes Scott Bakula." Cheered on a few of the locals that were competing. Especially the one that made a pit stop at his own house to relieve himself and turn off his sprinklers.
After the first three hours in front of your house you have no more, "keep it goings" left in you. The freak show section of the marathon now parades up your street. You no longer wonder where the ounces of fat from the elite female runners had disappeared to. A team of expanding spandex approaches. The third gay guy dressed as Ellen DeGeneres looked like he was having a heart attack as he jogged by. A collie jumped from a carriage being pushed by its running owner and begged me for asylum.
It is almost dusk. My car still remains parked in my driveway as stragglers pass by endlessly. Some make snarky comments about my neighborhood. "I bet most of these homeowners are underwater." These pathetic joggers form the underbelly of the marathon. You can't really call them runners. They are mostly amblers. These aren't the folks that are running for their friend that might have leukemia. They are never interviewed by the local tv stations. They are mostly relatives of telemarketers that never had much of a significant social life. I'm glad that the marathon changed course a few years back and no longer passes by my house. Really glad.
The week following the marathon usually brings out the bragging fools. The minions that claim to have just run in Sunday's marathon. Office workers, idiots in grocery check out lanes, assisted living residents. Most of their stories are simply that - stories. The numbers never add up. It's like the many old hippies that always say that they were at Woodstock. "Man, I slid in the mud with Santana." Sure you did.
I am not here to disparage the true participants in the marathon. My friend's fiance ran this year. Very proud of her achievement. I'd like to have on my resume that I just completed that run. However; it's been awhile since I ran a 10k. A 5k. Or even eaten Special K. Maybe next year's marathon. I can do it, I say out loud. Start training tomorrow. I can already envision myself running down San Vicente Blvd. with a Tanzanian hottie. Actually what I can see myself doing is simply telling people that I ran in last weekend's marathon. If you don't believe me - ask Scott Bakula.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
YOU CANNOT BE SYRIAOUS
I must admit that I am not well versed on the politics of the Middle East. Is it Palestein; or is it Palestine? What concerns me most about that region is its powder keg mentality. Iran is going nuclear. Syria is murdering dissent. Yemen is about to air episodes of Kitchen Nightmares. Israel is simply pissed off.
Because of my love for pro football watching, I have never been much of a religious guy. Jerusalem. The Holy Land. Really hold no meaning with me. The Packers. The Raiders. Much more of an impact on my upbringing.
That being said, most of my friends are Jewish. From elementary school to my tennis buddies of today. I have had every reason in the world to be an Israel supporter even if I truly didn't understand why. That support hasn't waned.
My Jewish buddies in grammar school changed the way that I looked at the world. I'd still be collecting baseball cards if it hadn't been for my friends like Lanny. While I was engrossed in the Hardy Boys "The Secret of Mojave Gulch", he was reading "The Fountainhead". If you think that our kids are behind the Chinese youth of today; how did you think that I felt in the fifth grade? Mickey Mantle was more in my DNA than Ayn Rand.
The smartest kids in school had all been circumcised. The funniest kids in school liked lox and bagels. I was very happy that the Jewish jokesters in school let me and my goyishness into their inner circle. It was with these folks that I honed my funny bone. Before hanging with my new Jewish friends: If I saw a little girl with her front teeth missing I would say, "Hey, you look like my Grandmother!" After hanging with my new Jewish pals: If I saw a little girl with her front teeth missing I would say, "Hey, why don't you give me a kiss. I plan on growing up to be a dentist."
I have always been attracted to Jewish women. Call me crazy; but I always wanted to bed a woman that could answer questions on Meet the Press rather than a girl that was a pageant contestant. Liking Jewish women is not exactly taking the path of least resistance. I'd much rather have a colonoscopy than be around a Jewish girl experiencing extreme PMS. To be on the safe side I married a woman that was half-Jewish.
I have pointed out some valid reasons for my allegiance to Israel. Smart folk. Funny people. Opinionated women. All information gathered after happily being around Jewish folk for most of my life.
In recent years, my wife and I have become friendly with non-Jewish Middle Easterners. The horror. The horror. What can I tell you? Things happen when you have an open mind. You know what - they aren't all members of a Sleeper Cell.
My next door neighbor and her brother are from Jordan. They are certainly better neighbors than the woman that ran a pre-school at the same house before they moved in. Across the street from us is another Jordanian that lives with his partner. He is more interested in show tunes than suicide bombings.
My wife just finished working two years as a furniture buyer for a wealthy Saudi Arabia couple. They were great. They didn't insist that my wife had to wear a burka whenever emailing them. My wife, as an interior designer (please hire her), has had to work with quite a few contractors. Her favorite is Kami. He is from Iraq. He works the hardest and is the most trustworthy contractor of them all. Well; as trustworthy as a contractor can be.
Coming into contact with these folks has tempered my us against them mentality. I now see other faces when talking of escalating problems in that part of the world. A misdirected drone could have an impact on one of my neighbor's family members. I can still support Israel with out saying we need to annihilate Syria.
I don't blame my neighbors for Assad's atrocities. I don't blame my neighbors for rising oil prices. I don't blame my neighbors for harboring terrorists. I don't blame them for anything except for sometimes parking in front of my house. If I can support Israel based on my friendships over the years I can at least lend an ear to what some of my new friends have to say.
Now, if I see a little girl with her front teeth missing, I would say, "Looks like you need a Beirut canal."
Arabs aren't as funny as Jews. They aren't.
Because of my love for pro football watching, I have never been much of a religious guy. Jerusalem. The Holy Land. Really hold no meaning with me. The Packers. The Raiders. Much more of an impact on my upbringing.
That being said, most of my friends are Jewish. From elementary school to my tennis buddies of today. I have had every reason in the world to be an Israel supporter even if I truly didn't understand why. That support hasn't waned.
My Jewish buddies in grammar school changed the way that I looked at the world. I'd still be collecting baseball cards if it hadn't been for my friends like Lanny. While I was engrossed in the Hardy Boys "The Secret of Mojave Gulch", he was reading "The Fountainhead". If you think that our kids are behind the Chinese youth of today; how did you think that I felt in the fifth grade? Mickey Mantle was more in my DNA than Ayn Rand.
The smartest kids in school had all been circumcised. The funniest kids in school liked lox and bagels. I was very happy that the Jewish jokesters in school let me and my goyishness into their inner circle. It was with these folks that I honed my funny bone. Before hanging with my new Jewish friends: If I saw a little girl with her front teeth missing I would say, "Hey, you look like my Grandmother!" After hanging with my new Jewish pals: If I saw a little girl with her front teeth missing I would say, "Hey, why don't you give me a kiss. I plan on growing up to be a dentist."
I have always been attracted to Jewish women. Call me crazy; but I always wanted to bed a woman that could answer questions on Meet the Press rather than a girl that was a pageant contestant. Liking Jewish women is not exactly taking the path of least resistance. I'd much rather have a colonoscopy than be around a Jewish girl experiencing extreme PMS. To be on the safe side I married a woman that was half-Jewish.
I have pointed out some valid reasons for my allegiance to Israel. Smart folk. Funny people. Opinionated women. All information gathered after happily being around Jewish folk for most of my life.
In recent years, my wife and I have become friendly with non-Jewish Middle Easterners. The horror. The horror. What can I tell you? Things happen when you have an open mind. You know what - they aren't all members of a Sleeper Cell.
My next door neighbor and her brother are from Jordan. They are certainly better neighbors than the woman that ran a pre-school at the same house before they moved in. Across the street from us is another Jordanian that lives with his partner. He is more interested in show tunes than suicide bombings.
My wife just finished working two years as a furniture buyer for a wealthy Saudi Arabia couple. They were great. They didn't insist that my wife had to wear a burka whenever emailing them. My wife, as an interior designer (please hire her), has had to work with quite a few contractors. Her favorite is Kami. He is from Iraq. He works the hardest and is the most trustworthy contractor of them all. Well; as trustworthy as a contractor can be.
Coming into contact with these folks has tempered my us against them mentality. I now see other faces when talking of escalating problems in that part of the world. A misdirected drone could have an impact on one of my neighbor's family members. I can still support Israel with out saying we need to annihilate Syria.
I don't blame my neighbors for Assad's atrocities. I don't blame my neighbors for rising oil prices. I don't blame my neighbors for harboring terrorists. I don't blame them for anything except for sometimes parking in front of my house. If I can support Israel based on my friendships over the years I can at least lend an ear to what some of my new friends have to say.
Now, if I see a little girl with her front teeth missing, I would say, "Looks like you need a Beirut canal."
Arabs aren't as funny as Jews. They aren't.
Friday, March 9, 2012
WOMB WITH A VIEW
When I first heard the term "vaginal probe" I thought that it was something that NASA was involved with. "The Vaginal Probe continued to send photos back to Earth after its successful landing on Venus." I know that Uranus was the obvious joke, but I chose not to sink that low.
A transvaginal procedure. Just saying that out loud makes you go "ow"! Voting on this mandate are male legislators that run like the wind the minute their doctor comes at them during a prostate exam. Why isn't there a transpenis procedure that mandates that a man should see his sperm that started this whole thing in the first place?
Virginia "softened" their controversial bill. Women can decline a transvaginal procedure. Quickly, a show of hands as to how many women would want that procedure. Mandated is an ultrasound. Just what a woman wants to see after making such an important sensitive decision to terminate a pregnancy. To paraphrase Cuba Gooding, "show me the fetus!"
Where are the wives of these legislators? Are they more interested in appearing on the Real Housewives of Richmond? Are they so Stepfordian that they don't realize what is being dictated to themselves, their daughters, and granddaughters? I haven't heard from one of these politician's wives saying, "You vote for that crap, don't you dare come near me with that thing of yours. Not going to happen." They never speak up. I AM WOMAN HEAR ME SNORE.
Last week the Senate narrowly voted down the Blunt amendment. An amendment that gave any employer the right to refuse to cover any kind of health care service by citing "moral reasons". Blunt argued that requiring an employer to cover health care services that they oppose is an attack on religious freedom. We need an attack on religious freedom. Otherwise employers, based on their moral beliefs, could deny: pre-natal care for single Moms, aids-hiv screenings, certain vaccinations for children.
I suppose if your boss was a Christian Scientist he wouldn't have to provide health care services for any of his employees. I suppose if your boss found out that you voted for a black man for President that you couldn't get a flu shot. I suppose if Paula Deen's employer found out that she liked butter he wouldn't provide for her insulin. The failure of the Blunt bill has left the "moral decisions" back to where they belong - the good old insurance companies. What a freakin' system!
The Blunt barking was only about one moral belief anyway. Birth control. Contraception. They believe that women were on their own when it came to this. Men on the other hand could get their Viagra and have erections lasting up to six hours. Men could also get vasectomies covered by insurance. We men are so selfish. Most men would get along just fine in one tub by themselves in a Cialis commercial.
Men telling women what to do with their private parts is happening in this country. Hard to believe. When did we become Yemen? We have the audacity to ridicule other countries where women can't drive and are treated like second class citizens while we treat our own women like they aren't in the room. Ironically they weren't in the room. Think Darrell Issa.
I wish that all of these anti-women legislators, Catholic bishops, Rush, Santorum, Huckabee, and Newt would take the next ride on the Vaginal Probe and establish their own colony on the moon. Far, far, away.
A transvaginal procedure. Just saying that out loud makes you go "ow"! Voting on this mandate are male legislators that run like the wind the minute their doctor comes at them during a prostate exam. Why isn't there a transpenis procedure that mandates that a man should see his sperm that started this whole thing in the first place?
Virginia "softened" their controversial bill. Women can decline a transvaginal procedure. Quickly, a show of hands as to how many women would want that procedure. Mandated is an ultrasound. Just what a woman wants to see after making such an important sensitive decision to terminate a pregnancy. To paraphrase Cuba Gooding, "show me the fetus!"
Where are the wives of these legislators? Are they more interested in appearing on the Real Housewives of Richmond? Are they so Stepfordian that they don't realize what is being dictated to themselves, their daughters, and granddaughters? I haven't heard from one of these politician's wives saying, "You vote for that crap, don't you dare come near me with that thing of yours. Not going to happen." They never speak up. I AM WOMAN HEAR ME SNORE.
Last week the Senate narrowly voted down the Blunt amendment. An amendment that gave any employer the right to refuse to cover any kind of health care service by citing "moral reasons". Blunt argued that requiring an employer to cover health care services that they oppose is an attack on religious freedom. We need an attack on religious freedom. Otherwise employers, based on their moral beliefs, could deny: pre-natal care for single Moms, aids-hiv screenings, certain vaccinations for children.
I suppose if your boss was a Christian Scientist he wouldn't have to provide health care services for any of his employees. I suppose if your boss found out that you voted for a black man for President that you couldn't get a flu shot. I suppose if Paula Deen's employer found out that she liked butter he wouldn't provide for her insulin. The failure of the Blunt bill has left the "moral decisions" back to where they belong - the good old insurance companies. What a freakin' system!
The Blunt barking was only about one moral belief anyway. Birth control. Contraception. They believe that women were on their own when it came to this. Men on the other hand could get their Viagra and have erections lasting up to six hours. Men could also get vasectomies covered by insurance. We men are so selfish. Most men would get along just fine in one tub by themselves in a Cialis commercial.
Men telling women what to do with their private parts is happening in this country. Hard to believe. When did we become Yemen? We have the audacity to ridicule other countries where women can't drive and are treated like second class citizens while we treat our own women like they aren't in the room. Ironically they weren't in the room. Think Darrell Issa.
I wish that all of these anti-women legislators, Catholic bishops, Rush, Santorum, Huckabee, and Newt would take the next ride on the Vaginal Probe and establish their own colony on the moon. Far, far, away.
Friday, March 2, 2012
METER THE FOCKERS
There is no recourse. No one to listen to your appeal. All the Johnnie Cochrans of the world just laugh at you. You have a better chance of a fair resolution happening for you if you were sitting in front of a tribunal full of Ayatollah's. What am I talking about? I'm talking about fighting a parking ticket.
A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in a red zone waiting for my less than prompt wife. She was dropping of some samples for a client. I made the fatal mistake of checking emails and facebook on my cell phone. While preoccupied looking at an email telling me that Barack Obama once knew a white woman; a parking officer of the law began to write down my license plate number.
The man in the untucked uniform failed to recognize my frantic waves. I decided just to drive off before he finished what he was doing. I could tell that he was not pleased with my get-a-way. I, on the other hand, felt that I had outsmarted the law and had pulled off an incredible jewel heist. Three days later I got the $82 ticket in the mail. So much for my Bonnie and Clyde euphoria.
A friend of mine got a parking ticket for spending less than two minutes in a red zone. Earlier he had seen a homeless person with a dog. There was no leash. He went to the nearby pet store and purchased a leash. He returned to where the homeless person was. Jumped out of his car and gave the leash to the grateful pooch. He turned around and saw a stonefaced parking enforcement official giving him a ticket. If you were ever on the fence about doing a good deed for someone, this anecdote might put an end to those benevolent thoughts.
Who are these meter folks? What makes them tick? What makes them ticket? I talked to Esteban Schwartz, an off-duty meter maid. He immediately was offended at the meter maid reference and took another swig from his opened Johnny Walker Red bottle. Esteban came from a broken home. His Mother was Guatemalan and his birth Father was a William Morris agent. He was raised by his Mother; as his Father spent more time with his clients than his own son. Certainly understandable if you knew Esteban.
Esteban took pride in the fact that he was a solid C student in high school. He was the first one in his family to attend a Junior College. He didn't take classes there he just attended. He prided himself on his patriotism. He wanted to serve his country. Just not in Afghanistan. He wanted to serve. He didn't want to trip a land mine.
Esteban had always been fascinated by the vehicles that could chalk another car's tires. His Mother had hoped that he had been fascinated by something more than that but was happy that Esteban was interested in something. Being overweight and unkempt he felt right at home after seeing the local parking enforcement folk over the years. He applied. Took a test. Answered the two questions which were: 1. Are you breathing? 2. Are you pissed at people that have better lives than you? He answered affirmatively and has been a man in uniform for over 17 years.
There are many other parking officers out there like Esteban that take glee in the fact that a well-educated person as yourself can't read the posted signs. TWO HOUR PARKING. Then in small undistinguishable lettering - unless you drive a Prius. NO WEDNESDAY PARKING. Then in small undistinguishable lettering - maybe some of the other days too.
Have you seen these new pay stations in your neighborhoods? No more just pulling up to a meter and putting your quarter in. The city has decided to mess with that simplicity by placing these mini-ATM machines about a half a block away from your car. While you are walking to the pay station from your perfectly parked car you are constantly looking over your shoulder to see if somebody is making their ticket quota at your expense. You get so nervous that you forget what space you are parked in and pay for the wrong space. Before you notice your mistake you see Esteban beaming. He defiantly waves the ticket at you before putting it under your windshield wiper.
Parking in this city will not be getting any easier in the near future. Esteban and his buds will be more feared than the Crips and the Bloods for years to come. Don't even bother going to court about the unjustness of your ticket. Even if you are religious - you don't have a prayer.
That being the case - there is only one avenue that I can turn my venting to. If my tardy wife would have been just a bit prompter none of this would have ever happened. I would have $82 more dollars in my wallet right now. I plan to place the blame where it all belongs - at the feet of my spouse. To get up the courage to do my "venting" I asked Esteban if I could take a swig from his opened Johnny Walker Red bottle. The wife can be very intimidating.
A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in a red zone waiting for my less than prompt wife. She was dropping of some samples for a client. I made the fatal mistake of checking emails and facebook on my cell phone. While preoccupied looking at an email telling me that Barack Obama once knew a white woman; a parking officer of the law began to write down my license plate number.
The man in the untucked uniform failed to recognize my frantic waves. I decided just to drive off before he finished what he was doing. I could tell that he was not pleased with my get-a-way. I, on the other hand, felt that I had outsmarted the law and had pulled off an incredible jewel heist. Three days later I got the $82 ticket in the mail. So much for my Bonnie and Clyde euphoria.
A friend of mine got a parking ticket for spending less than two minutes in a red zone. Earlier he had seen a homeless person with a dog. There was no leash. He went to the nearby pet store and purchased a leash. He returned to where the homeless person was. Jumped out of his car and gave the leash to the grateful pooch. He turned around and saw a stonefaced parking enforcement official giving him a ticket. If you were ever on the fence about doing a good deed for someone, this anecdote might put an end to those benevolent thoughts.
Who are these meter folks? What makes them tick? What makes them ticket? I talked to Esteban Schwartz, an off-duty meter maid. He immediately was offended at the meter maid reference and took another swig from his opened Johnny Walker Red bottle. Esteban came from a broken home. His Mother was Guatemalan and his birth Father was a William Morris agent. He was raised by his Mother; as his Father spent more time with his clients than his own son. Certainly understandable if you knew Esteban.
Esteban took pride in the fact that he was a solid C student in high school. He was the first one in his family to attend a Junior College. He didn't take classes there he just attended. He prided himself on his patriotism. He wanted to serve his country. Just not in Afghanistan. He wanted to serve. He didn't want to trip a land mine.
Esteban had always been fascinated by the vehicles that could chalk another car's tires. His Mother had hoped that he had been fascinated by something more than that but was happy that Esteban was interested in something. Being overweight and unkempt he felt right at home after seeing the local parking enforcement folk over the years. He applied. Took a test. Answered the two questions which were: 1. Are you breathing? 2. Are you pissed at people that have better lives than you? He answered affirmatively and has been a man in uniform for over 17 years.
There are many other parking officers out there like Esteban that take glee in the fact that a well-educated person as yourself can't read the posted signs. TWO HOUR PARKING. Then in small undistinguishable lettering - unless you drive a Prius. NO WEDNESDAY PARKING. Then in small undistinguishable lettering - maybe some of the other days too.
Have you seen these new pay stations in your neighborhoods? No more just pulling up to a meter and putting your quarter in. The city has decided to mess with that simplicity by placing these mini-ATM machines about a half a block away from your car. While you are walking to the pay station from your perfectly parked car you are constantly looking over your shoulder to see if somebody is making their ticket quota at your expense. You get so nervous that you forget what space you are parked in and pay for the wrong space. Before you notice your mistake you see Esteban beaming. He defiantly waves the ticket at you before putting it under your windshield wiper.
Parking in this city will not be getting any easier in the near future. Esteban and his buds will be more feared than the Crips and the Bloods for years to come. Don't even bother going to court about the unjustness of your ticket. Even if you are religious - you don't have a prayer.
That being the case - there is only one avenue that I can turn my venting to. If my tardy wife would have been just a bit prompter none of this would have ever happened. I would have $82 more dollars in my wallet right now. I plan to place the blame where it all belongs - at the feet of my spouse. To get up the courage to do my "venting" I asked Esteban if I could take a swig from his opened Johnny Walker Red bottle. The wife can be very intimidating.
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