Discuss our current projects, introduce the key players, shake everyone’s hand--and then immediately after the meeting, send each person a Friendster request.

Spend the hour talking about how Amway isn’t really a pyramid scheme.

Glare at everyone in the room and snarl, “You’re even worse looking than the last lot.”

Roll up my shirt and start pointing at imaginary scars from fights with various sharks.

Walk in back of each person while talking, occasionally saying “duck duck”...and then tap someone on the shoulder, shout “Goose,” and run around the room expectantly.

Collect five dollars from each person to keep the presentation under 30 minutes.

Grab at people’s faces and show them my thumb between my fingers, exclaiming “Aha!  Got your nose.”

Have each person say their name and something interesting about themselves--while sitting on my lap.

I’ve been thinking about having my vision corrected with laser surgery.  But I’ve worried about the potential side effects.

So I started reading up on the possible complications.  One frequent result is the inability to “detect subtle shades of gray.”

So now I feel great about the procedure.  If every senior member of our current administration had it done, how dangerous could it be?

I am highly adverse to getting involved in physical violence.  I won’t even high five someone without putting on a biking helmet first.

The other day I went running around Lake Merritt with a co-worker.  She’s 5’9” and likes to box recreationally.  She said, “I feel safer running in the evening when I have a running partner.” I said, “I sure hope you’re not talking about me.  You’re the boxer.  If a gang of muggers attacks us, the best I can hope for is to sweat and maybe bleed on them a little.  I’m looking to you to do some damage.”

However, now that I’ve seen Cinderella Man, I’m thinking that I’d probably be a pretty good boxer.  Because for someone who doesn’t like sports and boxing in particular, I’ve seen an awful lot of boxing movies.  Most of the Rocky flicks and that one that came out recently that made really not want to bite my tongue.

They all have the same training montages.  For example, there’s always a scene where the protagonist just stands around and hits that tiny little punching bag.  He or she looks all intense and just bashes at it. But it’s small.  I could totally hit that little punching bag over and over.

In Million Dollar Baby, that little punching bag was a big deal.  Hilary Swank wanted to hit it but it belonged to Dirty Harry so she couldn’t.  I was all, screw it. Go to a Party America! outlet and get yourself a good sized animal balloon. It’ll serve the same purpose.

Then there’s the scene where they jump rope.  What a bunch of sissies.  The only guys who ever jumped rope were the ones who were trying to impress the girls in elementary school.  I was one of those guys, come to think of it, but eventually I got tired of it and went to go play dodgeball, which was more fun even though I always got beaned in the head.

And then there’s the scene where the boxer goes up lots of stairs.  Big deal.  Have you ever noticed that people who use the Stairmaster in the gym are always the ones least interested in actually getting anything accomplished?  They trod slowly along, flipping through a magazine and wondering if they’ll get home in time to watch America’s Top Model. Their idea of breaking a threshold is burning through five calories.  Stairs are for losers.

So anyway, I’ve seen so many boxing training montages in the movies that now I think I’m probably too qualified to be a boxer.  I mean, I don’t want to hurt anyone.  So even though I could box, I think I won’t bother.  I’ll just stick to slap-n-tickle fights.

When we’re out in public, you may not appear prettier than I am.

You will always smile and say vapid things--cf. your excellent work in Dawson’s Creek.

There will be no sexual contact, but you will give interviews in which you refer to me with provocative nicknames like “Tomcat” and “My Number One Top Gun.”

I will ensure that you get to play the decorative, useless woman character in some big budget franchise movie. Note: Batman Begins will not count toward this obligation.

Don’t look at me with beady, judgmental eyes.

I’m serious.  Don’t you goddamn look at me.

Don’t threaten to overshadow my talent.  You seem harmless (First Daughter, etc) but so did Nicole.

Slouch a bit when you walk with me.  You’re 5’9” and I’m...well, none of your business.

Your brain now belongs to our benevolent alien overlords.

At the end of 15 months, we will have an amiable, publicly staged breakup--at which point I will take up with my War of the Worlds co-star, Dakota Fanning.

Here are some things that have annoyed me lately.

1. The other day, a gorgeous black Chrysler LeBaron was parked outside my place of work. I noticed that it had a license plate frame, which is pretty unusual for such a nice car.  I looked closely at it.  It read:

“EXECUTIVES DRIVE CARS LIKE THIS”

There’s a boss who must make Ricky Gervais from The Office look like Cesar Chavez.  Here’s a tip, sparky: If you have to call attention to the fact that you’re a big shot executive, you’re probably not really one.  It’s kind of like Austin Powers calling himself an “International Man of Mystery.” You’re not supposed to say it; you’re just supposed to be one. Oh, and that license plate frame is meant to be used ironically.  You’re supposed to stick it on a Pinto or a VW.  Also, eat me.

2. Driving to an out-of-the-way restaurant in the east bay, I passed an upscale dog kennel.  The slogan was “While you’re away, your dog will play.” Everything inside was painted bright, happy colors.  I think it’s great that people make a point of putting their dogs into a bright, colorful kennels--given that dogs are colorblind.

3. I just found out that Teri Hatcher’s daughter is named “Emerson.” I know it’s a rule that you can’t have a hit TV show or movie unless you have horrible names for your kids, but this is going too far.  Can this young prodigy explain the philosophical underpinnings of transcendentalism?  Did she supply Harvard with a graduating address called “The American Scholar”?  No? Then she’s not allowed to have the name.  Instead of complaining every time the paparazzi sticks a camera in her face, I’d expect her to explain the zoom lens as a modern-day version of the transparent eyeball. I’ll look for your analysis in Us magazine, Emmy.

4. I hate anyone who describes themselves as “a walking enigma” or a “bundle of contradictions.” If you have to actually articulate these things, then they probably don’t apply.  It’s like Austin Powers calling himself an International Ma--now look what’s happened.  I’m repeating myself.  That only happens when I get worked up about dumb things, which is the fault of dumb people. This underscores my political position that the “No Child Left Behind” act should be modified to say that it’s actually okay to leave behind the really annoying ones. 

Today I called a new doctor’s office to set up an appointment.  A very young-sounding woman kindly helped me and took down my information, including my name and address.

“And what’s your birthday?” she asked.

I told her the month, the day, and the year.

“That’s my birthday too!” she exclaimed.

“Really!” I said.

An awkward pause ensued.  It was long enough to allow several generations of fruitflies to live and die.

I said helpfully, “But probably not the year.”

“Right!” she exhaled with relief.  “Not the year, but the day and month!”

Don’t worry, Britney.  A long time ago I said cute things like that to my elders too, usually after a long day of fighting dinosaurs.  Tell you what--when I drop in, I’ll reverse the the usual doctor’s office protocol and bring you a lollipop.

This post is dedicated to mothers of small children everywhere.  And I mean all of you--whether you’re a money-grubbing opportunist, a beautiful human being with genuine love for all mankind, or just unbelievably naive. I want you to stop what you’re doing.  Put down the mouse.  Back away from the computer.  Now go find that list of things that indicates what you’re willing to let your kids do this weekend:

Things I Will Let My Kids Do This Weekend
Hang out at Chuck E. Cheese
Go roller skating
Visit Neverland
Sell crack
Get involved in street gangs

Now cross out the third item, so it looks like this:

Visit Neverland

Now hopefully none of us will ever have to go through this again.

I went to the KRON-TV hosted blogger event on Saturday.  They wanted us there because they’re interested in putting together a network of content producers that can help them react more quickly to relevant news stories.  They want to leverage local blogging to assist with their own efforts at communicating with their viewers.

It’s a good thing I was invited to this historic gathering, because I think readers of this site know that I can offer many “synergies” with the traditional media due to my “important insights” and unique “local voice.” So, with that in mind, I proudly present my first post that covers significant events in my area--specifically, Moss Avenue in Oakland:

Mrs. Zabritski got a new flowerpot.  And possibly a lawn gnome--I can’t remember if that green one was there before.

There’s a new wad of gum by the stop sign.

No naked neighbor sightings for several months, but my eyes remain glued.

KRON, I was happy to “embrace the revolution” in order to “efficiently communicate” this “media rich” information.  I’ll wait for your camera crew.

Oh, and for those who thought that my obsession with becoming a weatherman, per the post below, is “lame” or “pathetic” or “loserish,” I’d like you to take a good look at this picture.  I believe that it will settle the matter of my qualifications and natural ability.

I think we all know who the loser is now.  In your face.

My friend who works at Lucasfilm slipped me an advance copy of the Revenge of the Sith DVD.  It contains a series of deleted scenes.  I thought I’d transcribe them here for my fellow film geeks.

SCENE: Anakin and Padme at home.

ANAKIN: You look so beautiful.

PADME: That’s because I’m in love with you.

ANAKIN: No, it’s because I’m in love with you.

PADME: No, it’s because I’m in love with you.

ANAKIN: No, no, I’m in love with you.

PADME: No no no--

ANAKIN: Okay look, shut up.

PADME: No no no, you shut--

ANAKIN: I’m serious.  Stop or I’ll brain you with a lightsaber.

PADME (bursting into tears): You’re breaking my heart!  You’re going on a path that I can’t follow!

ANAKIN: Hold that thought.  You’re going to need it a few scenes from now.

----

SCENE: The Emperor is about to kill Mace Windu.  Anakin watches impassively.

MACE: Help me, Anakin!  You can’t let him kill me!

ANAKIN: Why the hell not?

MACE: Because I’m almost the last black person in this entire galaxy!  After I’m gone, the only one left will be my nephew, Lando Calrissian!

ANAKIN: Oh really?  I’ll have to settle up with him later.

MACE: Whoops.  Guess I should have kept my mouth shut.

ANAKIN: You really should have.  We’re the dark side of the Force, but not the dark side of the force--you get me, Jules?

---
SCENE: Bail Organa barks out orders.

ORGANA: Wipe the memories of the droids, so they forget the secret of Luke and Leia.

(pause)

And wipe the memory of Kenobi, so he’ll forget that Leia is the “other” in Episode V.

(pause)

And wipe the memory of Anakin, so he’ll forget he has a daughter and won’t sense Leia’s identity when she’s standing right in front of him in Episode IV.

(pause)

And wipe the memory of Leia, so she’ll have some bizarre memory of her mother in Episode VI that she couldn’t have.

(pause)

And--

YODA (interrupting): Shut up, you will.

---

SCENE: Darth Vader takes his first unsteady steps in full armor.

VADER: What of Padme?

EMPEROR: Eh, she’s dead and so is the baby.

VADER: NOOOOOOOOO!

EMPEROR: Also, you can only eat through a straw in that get up.

VADER: NOOOOOOOO!

EMPEROR: Also, the air conditioning unit is broken, and the parts are on backorder.

VADER: NOOOOOOO!

EMPEROR: Look, do you think you can stop doing that?  The whole emotional outburst thing doesn’t really fit the grim and malevolent image that you need to project.

VADER: Yeah, it doesn’t really feel right.  I think I’ll never do it again.

EMPEROR: Excellent.

VADER: “This...is CNN.”

EMPEROR: Don’t do that either.