Having a drink in an outside patio with my friend and colleague:

SHE: Oh my god. There’s a spider on the wall. Kill it. KILL IT.

ME: Here, I’ll remove it with this menu--

SHE: NO.  Not good enough.

(STOMP)

ME: Hey! I was going to deposit it in those bushes.  That was a living thing.  Aren’t you a believer in God, and stuff?

SHE: Whatever. It was a spider.

ME: We are all spiders in the eyes of the Lord. Didn’t you ever read Jonathan Edwards’s Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God?

SHE: What, the senator who was just caught cheating on his wife?

ME: Hmm. Now that you mention it, it’s kind of interesting they have the same name.

Bonus conversation with someone totally different!

SHE: You should have been the wedding I was at this weekend. It was Star Wars themed.

ME: .....

SHE: Great Darth Vader cake.

ME: ....just tell me that they’re not planning on having children.

SHE: They’re hoping for twins.  So they can name them Luke and Leia.

There’s been a series of “takeover” style robberies in Oakland, the city where I live.  When I first read about them in the paper, I thought it said “takeout” robberies. And I was totally understanding of that; there’s a place on Piedmont Avenue that charges ten bucks for a lousy prawn burrito.  I figured the article was going to explain all the other takeout robberies occurring throughout the city.

But no, a “takeover robbery” is where the bad guys storm into a place when customers are still there, and they demand all sorts of money and cash.  Suspects in the robberies have now been taken into custody, and I’m not surprised at all, because it’s really impossible to do a takeover robbery in Oakland.  You’d have to say “EVERYONE GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR,” and people would look at the floor--and all floors in Oakland restaurants look about the same--and say “You know what, we’ll take our chances with the jerks with the guns.”

I assume they’re now pulling in witnesses to identify the suspects, and people are all “Yeah, that’s the @*&@ who told me to get down on the floor.  Told ME to get down on a floor in an Oakland restaurant without even letting me put saran wrap down first--me, with a wife and two kids. I hope he fries.”

The police asked for “help” identifying the robbers, which really annoyed me.  What other civil servants ask for help?  Does the post office ask for help with all the holiday packages around Christmas time?  The public is asking the police for help so we can go out and have a ten dollar prawn burrito in peace without being asked to hit the floor, but they just turn it around and say “No, we need your help.” And people wonder why billionaires put on black body armor and fight crime.

I do listen very closely every time they ask for help, though. They usually say that there’s a reward for anyone who identifies a suspect who is subsequently arrested for the crime.  I think, hey, these people are busy and overworked. What if they forget to leave off that last disclaimer? They might simply offer a reward for anyone who identifies a suspect. I’d call them up and say “There’s a guy I work with who talk loudly on the phone and smells funny, and for all I know he did the robberies too. You ought to check him out.  Can you direct deposit my reward money?”

It’s not often that I get to do exclusive interviews on this site, but today I’m proud to present an interview with the individual who is currently one of the most famous, successful, and admired individuals in the world at the moment--Batman.  He had a rough start as an orphan who lost his parents to crime, but then he bounced back by waging war on the underworld and devoting himself to the protection of his city.

	Welcome, Batman, and congrats on being in the summer’s biggest blockbuster.
	I am vengeance.
	You bet you are.  And listen, with boffo box office for your recent film, you must be feeling pretty good about yourself.  What do you think is the secret of your success?
	I am vengeance.
	Yeah, look, that’s actually the main thing I wanted to ask you.  That thing you’re doing right there--it’s the only thing about you that really gets on my nerves.
	You dare?  You dare question that vengeance is my mission, my purpose, my birthright?
	No no. The vengeance thing is great. In fact, I pretty much feel the same way whenever someone cuts in front of me without using a turn signal.  But I was referring to your voice.
	What’s wrong with my voice?
	You’re way overdoing the deep, raspy thing. It pulled me out of the first movie, and the second one was great but the voice still bothered me.  Michael Keaton didn’t over do it--hell, even George Clooney handled the dual personas without drawing too much attention to himself. So what’s your problem?
	What exactly are you saying?
	I’m saying that when young Bruce Wayne went in search of great teachers, such as martial artists and world-famous detectives, you should have gone a little heavier on the vocal coaches and a little lighter on the method actors.
	YOU ARE ALIGNED WITH EVIL AND VILLAINY. YOU WILL FEEL MY WRATH.
	And you know what’s even more annoying? You do it in front of people like Rachel and Lucius, who know who you are.  I’m surprised they’re not all ‘Bruce, we get it, you’re a badass. Now stop pretending you have a 6-pack a day habit.’ What is the third movie in the series going to be called, anyway? “Batman Enunciates”?
	......
	...Batman?...
	......
	Okay!  I totally meant to end the interview early.  So that’s it for now.  Be here next time when we ask The Hulk why Dora the Explorer looks more realistic and three-dimensional than he does.

I’ve seen a lot of ads and articles lately for tips on getting in shape prior to one’s wedding day. And I guess I just think that’s a really awful idea.  When you stand up there and make your vows, you’re vowing to accept and love the other person as they are.  So the last thing you want to do is lose weight or get plastic surgery or something. Rather, you want to look the way that you’re likely be during the marriage itself, because that’s only fair.

If I were to get married, I would get all method actor about it. I’d gain fifty pounds, lose my job, and drag my James Bond DVD collection around with me in a backpack.  I’d greet my fiancee at the altar: “Hey babe, this is gonna be fun!  And after we’re done with this vow thing, do you think you can loan me a hundred bucks? I need to finish paying the caterer.”

As I sit in a sports bar in a Dallas airport, I am reflecting that if I were to start a sports bar--which would not be my first pick for a themed bar, as I find sports extremely boring--I would not make the waitresses dress like referees. There is something off putting about the idea of a referee.  They make people stop, and slow down, and skip the rest of the game. They are foreboding. Is this the right image that one wishes to give ones waitresses?  This is a sports bar; what is wrong with a cheerleader or two?

Plus, if I look to the side and kind of squint, they don’t look like referees at all but vaguely like women dressed in prison outfits--although, come to think of it, that would be my first pick for a themed bar.

Update!: Jesus God, I was just carded.  What is wrong with you people?  I am staring down the barrel of my forties; do you not see Death perched on my shoulder, not unlike the Hitchhiking Ghosts at the end of the popular Disneyland attraction The Haunted Mansion?  How am I now expected to drink this mojito with dignity?

I’m a pretty big whore,* from the standpoint that I’m willing to do just about anything if I’m compensated. And my price point isn’t even all that high.  I read other blogs and they’re all “Someone sent me something to review, but I’m not going to review it because I am artist, doing my artist thing.” Right.  A Portrait of the Artist as a Blogger--whatever. The only reason I have never reviewed anything on this site is because no one has ever sent me anything for free.

But this week someone finally did, and now I have a free Schick Quattro Titanium Trimmer, and I’m going to review it for you.  Here’s what it looks like:

There are two primary reasons I use a razor such as this. Let’s see how it stacks up in each category.

1. Shaving cats.
I have always been a big proponent of shaving cats.  I do this because otherwise cats will lick themselves and create gigantic hairballs.  If you shave them, this doesn’t happen.  Cats will thank you for the service--eventually.

So how did the Schick Quattro Titatanium Trimmer do in the cat shaving category? Unfortunately, I was unable to catch any of my neighbor’s cats in order to find out. Apparently they’ve learned to run when they see me.

2. Alternating between electric razor and a normal one.
This is probably more what I was supposed to write when asked to review the product. The fact is, I’m far too lazy to use a regular razor every day; I almost always use an electric one. But sometimes you want an especially close shave, and then I’ll use a razor like the one I was given or use it after shaving with an electric razor.  This gives me a close shave that I can do to snuggle with those that I love, such as my neighbor’s wife.  Unfortunately, again, I was unable to catch my neighbor’s wife in order to evaluate the product.

Still, I did shave with it and, frankly, it’s a pretty ordinary shave.  Not bad, just ordinary. However, the big gimmick is that it has a trimmer on the end of the handle, battery powered, that works very well.  I do like this feature. Sometimes the electric razor gives me a bit more flexibility, which is why I often alternate between electric and manual, but if the manual has a trimmer at the end, I could see using only the manual razor.  That is, on those rare occasions when I’m feeling inspired to use a non-electric razor.

The trimmer is advertised as being “titanium,” which I guess is good.  I mean, if it was a “plutonium” trimmer than I probably would not have opened the box.  The blades worked well.  I lost about a pint of blood using the product, but that would be true regardless of what razor I used; there’s a reason I tend to stick with electric.

In sum: cool idea to have the trimmer on the end of the razor, so I like it.  And that’s my review.  Now who is going to send me more free stuff?

*However, I’m not so much of a whore that I’m going to mention that you can register to win a free trimmer at www.trimflixx.com by making a movie--especially since I tried it and made one where I’m having a pillowfight with some co-eds.  Frankly, it was kind of creepy. I didn’t like seeing myself in a movie that completely violates the half-plus-seven rule. Maybe a little subtlety in regards to this particular viral marketing gem, guys?**

**But you should still send me more free stuff.

Bringing along two women to help shop for clothes can be extremely healthy.  This way, you won’t necessarily buy what you would ordinarily buy, but learn what other people think you should buy, which frankly is more important.  If I actually bought only what I wanted to wear, I’d have nothing but a closet full of white T-shirts and maybe a red cape or two.  Fernando was right: it’s better to look good than to feel good.

So I invited my friends to come with me during one of my infrequent clothes pilgrimages, and it worked better than I had dared hoped.  Interesting and unusual clothes were yanked off racks and pushed into my hands with ruthless efficiency. If I mumbled out loud about needing a size larger, someone zipped off and immediately got it for me.

The store clerks looked strangely at our whirlwind of activity. I said, “I’m Mormon and these are my two wives.”

It’s also good because the clerks themselves are far less annoying. Usually they try to weigh in with “You would look good in this” and “Try that,” but you can never trust store clerks; they’re driven by commission, and I also think they like to play practical jokes on customers, the way bored cooks spit in your soup.  But they were powerless in the face of my two friends, twin sentinels who monitored by every move and insisted on seeing the results of everything I tried.

To my surprise, I vetoed practically nothing.  There was one red striped shirt in particular that I simply couldn’t handle, although I might go back and buy it if I decide to be Raggedy Ann or Andy for Halloween.

And there were definitely a few times when I was pushed outside of my comfort zone.  A gray sweater that looked as though I should be offering to carry someone’s schoolbooks? A polo shirt with three wide stripes, as though I was flipping burgers for the grandkids while swimming in and out of dementia?  I would have gone past these items without a second thought if I had been on my own, but armed with my own personal shopping versions of Ebert & Roeper, I was forced to take two female thumbs up into consideration. And, once placed on my personage, these odd clothes did actually seem to work.  The gray sweater in particular snapped into place and I saw the fashion-laded possibilities.

GQ will not be inviting me to be on their cover anytime soon. In fact, they frequently write me letters and ask me not to even buy the magazine because it hurts their brand.  Nonetheless, I am content with the results.

It’s interesting, though, how shopping breaks down barriers and causes people to become more candid than they were before. By the end of the day, opinions were offered as to what the new clothes would displace.

“That green, shimmery shirt you wear? Yeah. That’s got to go.” (pause) “You know, I’ve known you for years, but I’ve never spoken up about that.”

Dribbling a basketball outside the car window and occasionally passing it to other drivers.

Talking on my cell phone while holding it in my teeth.

Not holding the wheel at all while I pick my nose with both hands.

Holding a stuffed animal to my ear and pretending to have a conversation until police pull me over, at which point I thrust the animal at them and say “Ha, joke’s on you-it’s not a cell phone at all but rather my old pal Flopsy.”

Talking to friends and colleagues without using a cell phone--such as with CB radio, walkie talkies, and bullhorns.

Driving around my neighborhood with the stereo blaring and the windows rolled down, singing loudly along with Rihanna’s “Shut Up and Drive.”

Calling the police every five minutes to report another driver talking on his cell phone: “He just turned down Lexington Avenue. If you guys hurry, you can totally catch him.”

Pricing out bluetooth headsets. This is technically an act of cultural obedience and not rebellion, but whatever, who asked you.

I’ve never been a fan of nudists. They take the fun out of everything.  What I like about most naked people is the motion and the sounds that precede their nudity: the whisper of cloth as it’s pulled over the head, the rustle of denim as it plunges to the floor, the tearing of fabric as you get fed up with gentility and simply rip it apart. Nudity is the prize at the end of all of that effort, but nudists don’t play like that at all. They’re like, hey, I’m naked and I’ve been naked for the last fourteen hours--so who wants to play volleyball?

Nudists are the kind of people who will tell you what happens on the last page of a mystery novel.  They will tell you what happens in a movie you haven’t seen. If they could tell the future, they’d tell you the license plate of the bus that’s going to hit you.  Their life is one, big, boring issue of National Geographic.

These are all reasons why I would not invite nudists over for dinner. Other reasons include my lack of interest in serving cold food that doesn’t spatter, as well as having to put plastic down on all my furniture.

Questions unanswered by this post:
Which is better, nudity or nakedness?

Do nudists get aroused by slowly putting on clothes?

Is there anyone more miserable than an eskimo who secretly wants to become a nudist?

When Obama is trying to get Michelle to be naked, does he talk about his passionate desire for change?

When nudists find out that one of their number is also an exhibitionist, do they vote the person out of the club?  Or maybe they simply shrug and say “Eh, whatever, there’s nothing wrong with being an overachiever.”

I was nervous last week about standing up in front of my entire company and giving a presentation. I didn’t have to talk for very long, but I still sweated about it.

I thought I ended up doing okay, and people said I did well. But then I watched a video of the presentation.  I’ve always believed that you can tell a lot about what people are really thinking by the way they use hand gestures.  If you only listened to what I was saying, you’d think that I was completely focused on how increasing marketing activities can drive growth and help the company reach its revenues. If you look at my hands, however:

...apparently it’s more along the lines of “I’ve got a really cool new way to roll a doobie.”

Have you ever been to the house of a young couple and note that they have a mostly empty room? There may be a few bookcases tilting unsteadily inside of it, but otherwise it’s vacant.

It’s like the opposite of that room in Poltergeist where all the stuff is spinning around, like flapping books and screeching record players. Instead it’s a void wrapped tightly inside of a cone of silence.  All of the rest of the furniture in the house almost seems to lean away from it, exhibiting a combination of respect and fear.

It’s a sign that the couple will soon be procreating.  You can verify your observation by checking out the rest of the furniture in the house: lots of hand-me-downs and hardly anything new. Clearly they’re conserving money.  And your final clue is in the little looks they cast each other across the dinner table, looks which are not simply “I love you” and “You are my pumpkin pie,” but rather “I really hope you’re not sterile” and “Don’t sit that way; you might hurt your eggs.”

I’ve always thought that a lot more people are gay or bisexual than the statistics suggest; it’s just fear and an intolerant society that keeps them on the straight and narrow. So to speak. That said, I also believe that there’s people who are just plain straight.

But for a long time, I theorized that every straight woman had salacious thoughts about Angelina Jolie.  I can’t count the number of my female friends who have told me that this is true for them.  They are always vaguely embarrassed, saying that they’re not that way but whoa, she has a look that makes them say “husband, schmusband--she’s on my laminated list of exceptions.”

Typical scenario: “I like to think about me and Angelia going to the supermarket, getting produce together. And then making out.”

Or: “I just want to do my nails with Angelina.  And then our toes. And then get a full body massage. And then buff our breasts together.”

What is it about her? Is it the quiet strength that she radiates, which gives her a kind of masculine authority that appeals even to women? Is it the fact that she complements that strength with compassion in terms of her charity efforts?

Let me tell you something: a long time ago, I found myself with a baby that I didn’t want.  I don’t want to go into details. But I did something I’m not proud of--I put the baby in a dumpster. And then I ran away. And when I turned around?  Angelina was plucking the baby out of a pile of tin cans and putting it into a basket. She waved at me and said “Hey, when you’re ready, come look up me and Brad and we’ll give it back to you.”

The Brad thing almost blew it, of course.  Brangelina breaking up Braniston was a national crisis and it sullied Angelina’s image.  But people got over it and Jennifer stopped making movies anyone cared about and now it’s okay for straight women to fantasize about Angelia once more.

However, I think I’ve found the one exception to the rule--the one woman who just isn’t interested:

Congrats, Condi. You’re officially the only human being on the planet who would, in that particular situation, be facing that direction.

From that standpoint, it’s a pretty good metaphor for your entire political career.

Life coach.  I like the idea of telling people what they should do in order to live fulfilling lives.  “Focus on this.  Prioritize that. What do you feel? What do you want?  Do this, do that.  Time’s up, now pay me.” And I like the idea of not having to dress up for work, but simply wear a white robe all day. I do not know if life coaches actually wear them, but it seems to me that if your job title is “life coach” then you can get away with just wearing a white robe.

The problem is, in order to be a life coach you have to believe that you have perfected your own life. And that means that a life coach thinks that the absolute perfect life is to be a life coach. Why else would they be a life coach? They clearly have coached themselves into being life coaches. And I don’t like that idea.  You basically have to tell all of your clients, “You should be a life coach.” And then what if they are better than me and I lose all my customers?  I can see how being a life coach would be a bad deal.

Traffic helicopter radio guy. I have let my local KQED station wake me up for years, and in all that time, Joe McConnell has been the soft-spoken traffic guy who tells me what the commute is like. It seems like a fun job: every morning you rise above it all, say a few words on air, and then go home and take an early afternoon nap.

Sometimes Joe is busy analyzing freeway patterns or picking his nose or something, and he doesn’t always come on when he’s supposed to, and the KQED guy says “Joe? Joe?  Well, we’ll check in with Joe in just a few moments.” And Joe always comes back eventually, but I worry about him. What if another helicopter from a rival station has rammed him, causing him to crash and explode in a fiery ball of flame?  That’s really kind of the problem with being a traffic helicopter radio guy: there’s no one to report on crowded conditions in the air. “Well, we have a mid-air collision right above the Golden Gate; looks like the chick from the lite rock station decided to take out Joe once and for all. We advise an alternate flight path if you’re reporting on traffic today.”

Roadie for Nickelback.  I’d like to be a roadie for the band and become one of their inner circle. And then, when they’re rehearsing “Rock Star” and feeling relaxed and happy, I’ll climb up to the catwalk and cut loose the restraints and let an enormous amplifier tip over and squash them like bugs. Seriously, who thought it was a good idea to let Nickelback become a real band? Those guys suck.

Reverend Jeremiah Wright

Mitt Romney

Obama’s old childhood stuffed bunny, Flopsy

The entire cast of Disney’s High School Musical

The supermarket cashier person who keeps overcharging Obama and Michelle, even when there’s no line and no reason to make those kinds of mistakes

Obamagirl

Batman

Chelsea Clinton