SHE: What size of refrigerator are you looking for?  20 cubic feet?

HE: A bit smaller.

SHE: 18 cubic feet?

HE: Here’s the thing: I just need to be able to fit a good-sized adult body in the freezer.

SHE: ....

ME: ....

SHE: ....

ME: ...you probably hear that joke a lot.

SHE: Fortunately, no.

I never understand why people get frustrated that I won’t go to any high school reunions--particularly people who know that I didn’t enjoy high school.  I still keep in touch with a handful of awesome people from that time, and that suits me fine.  The rest--I wish them well, but I’m not interested in going to a party with them.

“But you get to see all the people,” they say.

Well, obviously, if I liked the people, I would have liked high school. It wasn’t as though I had an issue with the buildings and the landscaping.

“But you get to see how they’ve changed.”

And I’m like, are people going to be saying these same things to former prisoners from Abu Ghraib fifteen years from now?

“I’m organizing an Abu Ghraib reunion!  You just have to go; you’ll get to see everyone you miss!”

“I don’t miss anyone. It was years of detention and torture.”

“But you get to reminisce about old times!  People will bring old pictures of everyone being stacked up on top of each other!  I know Amahl is bringing a waterboard--remember when that was trendy?”

What really worries me about Michael Jackson’s death is that his biggest asset--the rights to the Lennon/McCartney catalog--will now be auctioned off to pay for Jackson’s pile of debt.

People my age will remember what a big deal this was back in the ‘80s, when McCartney and Jackson were bitter bidders and rivals as they fought to obtain the rights.  Now, this proved to be a gift to the world of music, as it meant that they would never again team up to sing a song like “The Girl is Mine.” Nonetheless, it was pretty fierce at the time. Jackson ended up winning the rights by paying roughly $47 million.

It turns out that when you buy the rights to songs, they don’t depreciate as soon as you drive them off the lot.  Those Beatles songs are now worth hundreds of millions.

Actually, wait, that’s not true. I bought the rights to the collected work of Kid Rock for a few hundred bucks, and I completely lost that investment. So I guess it depends on whose songs you buy.  Evidently, Beatles songs hold up pretty well. (Except for “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” Does anyone really need to hear that one again?)

So here’s my worry: obviously, McCartney will cackle to himself and say “Ha!  I outlived the jerk. Now I can buy my songs back.” Except, really, what’s Paul worth? Maybe $500 million?  We’re talking the rights to the Beatles songs.  The richest people in the world are going to be all over this, particularly after they saw how Jackson netted hundreds of millions in royalties year after year as a result of his purchase.  My opinion is, the rights to these songs will be bought by some oil baron from the Middle East.

So what, you say? Well, if they have the rights, won’t they have the ability to change the songs a bit to suit their own point of view?

Say goodbye to the classics you know, and say hello to:

Back in the United Arab Emirates
Baby You Can Drive My Camel
Oil Fields Forever
The Hippy Hippy Sheik
The Fool on the Sand Dune
Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds that I Got from my Personal South African Mine

Like everyone else, I’m pulling out my Jackson music and listening to it. But I’ll tell you what, I’m also pulling out my Beatles songs while I have a chance. Because it just won’t be the same when I’m hearing how that guy has a steady job but really wants to be a Fatwa Writer.

As we begin the countdown to the Fourth of July, I think it’s worth assessing some of the reasons why the United States broke away from England.  Oh sure, you can talk taxation, equal rights, whatever. But the real reason is that the Brits are willing to destroy the minds of their children for no good reason, and we realized that we had to protect our offspring.

The most recent example pertains to the British government recommending that schools not teach the “i before e except after c” rule. 

The news article discusses the matter with dispassion, but the repercussions are potentially catastrophic. You don’t just take away one of the cornerstones of western education without severe consequences. Kids need direction.  Kids need guidance.  The children of my generation were lifted aloft by the sheer, sleek simplicity of this grammar rule; it gave us solace in dark times, and kept us from listening to The Smiths more than three hours a day.  Why not just shower Britain’s schoolyards with booze, drugs, and porn while we’re at it? 

And what reason do they give?  “"The rule is not worth teaching because it doesn’t account for words like ‘sufficient,’ ‘veil’ and ‘their.’”

How did these guys survive as a world power all those years?  Listen up, continent: things that are taught in school do not have be true at all.  Was Columbus a great hero who was kind to Indians and played Chutes & Ladders with them while learning how to make cranberry sauce? Were our founding fathers a bunch of sensitive, colorblind emancipators?  Was I Love Lucy actually funny?  Of course not.  But these lies--which are still taught to this day, in classrooms all across America--form the bedrock of our families, our community, and our society.

If we stop teaching this rule, we are threatening the very fabric of our nation. This may sound like an overblown statement--that such a small, incremental change to our children’s curriculum will wreak such havoc--but once you remove one pillar of moral integrity, many more will be sure to follow.  This week, we will no longer care about “i before e, except after c"--next week, it will be grammatically acceptable to start sentences with a conjunction and end them with a preposition.  And that’s the kind of world you should be very scared of.

I have a theory that God runs reality pretty much like a corporation, and when you die you have to talk with Human Resources prior to shuffling off this plane of existence:

HR: Thanks for coming in, Mr. Howard.  Now, the first thing I’d like to ask you is--HEY. What are you doing with that iPod?

ME: Being dead doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy quality tunes.

HR: I’m sorry, that’s company property.  The rules specifically say--"You can’t take it with you.”

ME: That is completely lame.

HR: And the stapler.

ME: Whatever.

HR: Now, let’s talk about how your career went with us. Do you feel your goals were sufficiently established?

ME: Like hell.  I had no idea what I was supposed to do.  Management needs to be much more clear about His objectives.

HR: Well, our culture prizes autonomy and self-starters.

ME: Yeah, like that Hitler guy.

HR: Come on.  If I only had a nickel every time some newly dead person defended his actions by invoking Hitler.  Now, how did you feel about your co-workers?

ME: Liked a lot of them--loved the one who did that one thing, damn, you need to teach more of your employees to do that--was annoyed by a bunch of them, and what was up with that guy who kept adding me on Facebook?  If I were you, I’d use a more stringent screening process in your recruiting.

HR: Oh, natural selection isn’t a finely tuned enough process for Your Majesty?

ME: Honestly, it needs some work. I mean, a billion years of evolution and we get Paul Blart: Mall Cop.  And we still have a tailbone for no apparent reason.

HR: What would you recommend to build a better workplace?

ME: More shared objectives, better communication, better salary, and fewer meetings. Also, flying cars.

HR: So, would you work here again?

ME: Well, I’m dead and I’m not coming back, so I’m gonna be honest with you. This place is deeply dysfunctional, it’s poorly run, and although there’s a lot of good intentions and good ideas, I think the culture needs a ground-up reworking.

HR: Actually, you could come back. You’re eligible for re-hire through our newly established reincarnation program.

ME: ....

HR: Long waiting list, though.

ME: ....what I meant to say was, I’d come back in a heartbeat. So to speak.  Love the executive management style--very “hands off,” very “create your own meaning whilst you spin in the existential void.” Which I personally find very empowering.  Great, thanks, please spell my name correctly--it’s “Greg” with one “G.” HR at my actual company never got that right.

AMERICAN CANCER SOCIETY WOMAN: Okay, we’ll schedule a pick up and collect your car. You’ll be notified in advance.  Thanks for your donation.

ME: No problem.  Thanks.

(She calls back later)

ACS WOMAN: The towing people left me a message that they’re coming by your place this afternoon.

ME: What? No one told me that.  I’m at work...I can’t meet them and give them the keys.

ACS WOMAN: What? Okay, I’ll call them and tell them that.

(Someone calls me later)

TOW GUY: Hi, I’m the towing guy, here to collect your car for the American Cancer Society. I’ll be at your place in ten minutes.

ME: You were supposed to be called by ACS Woman.  No one told me you were coming by. I’m at work. I can’t meet you.

TOW GUY: Oh. How about Monday, then?

ME: I can’t...I’m flying out of town for a week.

TOW GUY: Oh.

(ACS Woman calls me later)

ACS WOMAN: They can pick it up on Monday.

ME: I can’t, I’ll be out of town. Tell you what...can I leave the keys in the car’s exhaust pipe, like in an envelope or something?

ACS WOMAN: That could work. I’ll call the towing people and tell them that.

ME: Okay, but can you please make sure they pick it up on Monday?  I live in Oakland...leaving the keys anywhere within ten miles of a car is not a good idea.

ACS WOMAN: Okay.

(I call ACS Woman the middle of the following week)

ME: Did they pick up the car yet?

ACS WOMAN: Not yet. I’ll call them.

ME: You know what?

ACS WOMAN: What?

ME: I think I’ve realized why we haven’t cured cancer yet.

(I am renting a car at the airport.)

GUY: Here’s your paperwork, sir. Now Alicia will show you where to pick up your car...and she may even tell you a joke.

(Alicia is a young, innocent-looking girl with a long ponytail.  She smiles.)

ME: Hey, I want to hear a joke.

ALICIA: Okay!  Why don’t women wear watches?

ME: Uh...hmmm...I don’t know.

ALICIA: They don’t need them!  The oven already has a clock!

ME: (surprised gurgle of laughter)

GUY: Told you she’d tell you a joke.

ME: (pointing at Alicia) She’s a female, right?

GUY: She is, she is.

ALICIA: Hey, it made you laugh!

ME: I think I laughed because you told that joke.  I can never tell that joke. I’ve gotten too used to my heart being inside my rib cage.