Imaginary Muggers

I was just wondering what I should do with my phone.

I went for a walk last night.  I left my house around midnight and returned after 2 am.  When you have a wacky schedule like I do, you have to do what you have to do.  I walked up and down the streets and then through the dark park that’s about a mile away.  The park is larger enough so it takes me about 25-30 minutes to walk all the way around it, so I did that twice after walking up and down a few streets.  Oh by the way, after walking for two hours, it began to rain so I ended up running home from the park. 

 There wasn’t much action last night.  There were a few people out, but not as many as a Friday or Saturday night.  Apparently walking in the middle of the night is a very Mars/Venus kind of thing.  Based on reactions I have gotten by telling such things, it seems that women seem to be more concerned by such an event than guys.  Women claim to be “worried,” I guess because of safety issues.  For some reason they associate walking in the darkness with getting mugged.  I could be wrong, but I think you can also get mugged in broad daylight.  Perhaps it has something to do with the unknown, like the monster under the bed or in the dark closet. 

Guys on the other hand don’t seem to care as much because we are naturally macho and brave and have less fear.  Either that or we’re more ignorant and dim-witted, take your pick.  Most guys you tell that you were walking in the middle of the night might ask where you were going or if you stepped in any puddles or something like that.  They might ask what shoes you wore or maybe even if you had a reflector vest on for safety.  They would never tell you they were worried because guys don’t get worried about things that are not worth worrying about.  By guys, I’m talking about non-gay guys here, the ones without feelings.

The worried female thinks if you are stupid enough to go walking the streets in the middle of the night, you should at least take your dog and/or your cell phone with you.  I may have a sign on the fence in my yard that says “Beware of Dog,” but that was there when I moved in.  I don’t have a dog to protect me from imaginary muggers.  I do however have a cell phone, but I don’t know what to do with it.

I thought about this on my walk last night.  If I brought my cell phone, am I supposed to walk with it turned on or off?  I would never expect a call at that time of night because most normal people are probably either sleeping or have mistaken me for a normal person that is probably sleeping.  (Trust me, I’m nowhere near normal).  If I put aside the notion of a casual conversation at 1 am with someone who should probably be sleeping, the only other purpose for the phone would be in case of emergency, like say if I got mugged. 

If I consider the mugging option, I wondered if it would be better to have my phone on at the ready.  Perhaps I could thwart their efforts with something like, “Here, don’t beat me up and I’ll let you call anywhere in the world you want for free.  That’s right…Cuba, Jamaica, Africa, China, South America, Trenton…where ever you want.  No problem, man.”

I somehow doubt if that would work.  I don’t own a Blackberry or I-phone so I don’t think I’d be getting mugged for my cheap Tracphone.  Minutes on my phone are precious to me.  I don’t have a normal phone because I don’t use it often.  I have the kind that I pay for minutes in advance and right now there are not very many left on it.  I figured if I got mugged and they took my phone, they would surely call everyone they know and use up all my minutes.  That would get me more upset than the mugging itself because I already paid for those minutes.  My only hope would be that they think it’s a normal phone that could be traced and maybe even has a GPS tracker so they might make a quick call to a buddy in prison and then ditch it.  Can prisoners receive calls at 1 am?

My other option was to take my phone, but leave it turned off until I needed it.  That way if I did get mugged and they got my phone, they would either not be able to turn it on without my secret access code or they would have to torture that out of me before they killed me or rendered me somehow speechless.  I contemplated whether paying for a few minutes in advance was worth all that.  Then I began thinking which option would be better if I thought I was going to get mugged. 

Would it be better to already have my phone on so I could quickly dial 911 (and take the chance of being able to do so before it was too late) or would it be better to wait until I thought I was just about to get mugged and try turning on my phone in time, entering my secret access code, waiting for a signal, and then dialing 911 all before my lights went out.  But what if I cried wolf?  What if I was a little baby scaredy-cat and thought I was going to get mugged just because a couple of hoodlums were walking quickly toward me when all they really wanted was to see if I had a match because theirs got wet?  That would be embarrassing if I had already dialed 911 and had to cancel right in front of them.

You see, this is why guys don’t worry about ridiculous things like getting mugged just by going for a midnight stroll.  We don’t have the brain capacity to handle all the different possible scenarios and if we strain too hard to consider them all, it just gives us a headache.  We would much prefer to walk and enjoy the night and think about pretty girls on the beach or nice Grateful Dead shows we’ve seen or happy thoughts like that.  We’re a simple breed.

A Typical Ty Day

For anyone curious enough to want to know what a typical day off is like for me, here you go. I always start a day off by sleeping as late as I possibly can. For me lately that usually means until 5 or 6 am, sometimes 7 if I’m lucky. It doesn’t matter what time I go to bed either. Trust me, I’ve tried staying up until 3 am in hopes that it would make me sleep in longer; it didn’t. Today I wanted to sleep, but it was too difficult with all the car alarms whistling away, the garbage truck idling and making all it’s loud trash pickup noises, the buses stopping and starting, the cars beeping, the neighbors whistling and yelling, the dogs barking, the birds happily chirping, and the last straw was the idiot who drove by with his loud bass-pumping music cranked up so everyone for a mile around could hear him coming.

I gave up on the sleep and went for my water. You get dehydrated sleeping, so I start every day with a tall glass of filtered water, usually about 16 oz., sometimes a little less. I jump on the computer, check for any devastating news, check my email, check for any interesting updates on facebook. At some point before leaving, I might update my status on Facebook, MySpace, and Twitter, but I’m not tied to that.

In addition to the usual walking I do throughout the day, which typically averages around 5 miles, I also try to speed-walk or run another 3 to 5 miles a day; oftentimes more. On a day off when I do not have to go anywhere, I actually try to compensate by walking or running more because I know it is all for me. Today when I woke and saw how nice it was outside and how warm it was quickly getting, I decided to go for a nice long bike ride instead.

For energy to ride, I made myself a breakfast of an egg white omelet with collard greens and assorted beans with a few usual extras (crushed red pepper, cayenne pepper, black pepper, hot sauce, ground ginger, oregano, sunflower seeds, ground flax seed). I splurged on the carbs and calories by toasting an entire whole grain English muffin to hold my omelet. For a side I had a banana with cinnamon and a spoonful of almond butter and fresh squeezed orange juice. I call that a good breakfast, one that will last me all day.

Before I could ride I had to fill my rear tire with air. Of course I could not find my air pump, so I had to bring it down to the gas station and pay 75 cents for a little air. I considered walking it down, but then I thought of another errand I could do, so I threw the bike in the back of my truck and drove it down to the station, ran my errand, and returned to get ready.

I filled my water bottle with icy water. I packed my little camera in my bike bag. I slid on my Bell pro gel gloves. I strapped on my road helmet. I locked up the house and set out for about a 25 mile ride. It may have been slightly less, but this is the internet so I can say anything. I actually had somewhere that I had to go about 10 miles away so instead of driving, I thought it would be a good excuse to get some bike exercise. I considered walking it, but then thought biking burns more calories and goes much quicker, so I went with that option. If I could, I would bike like that more often, but I usually can only do it on days off. It’s not easy bicycling to work and arriving all sweaty and gross to start off your day when you deal with the public.

Other than being in New Jersey and dealing with all the traffic and congestion, the ride to my destination wasn’t too bad. On bike, I take roads that are not as much travelled and I cut through parks and take shortcuts down by the river and stuff. If I wanted to drag it out longer, I could do more of the riding through neighborhoods instead of major roads; it just depends how much time or distance I want to ride. Today I did half and half.

I had so much fun riding the 10 miles there; I decided to continue riding further. I was a couple miles away from one of the parks where I like to do some walking and off-road riding. I usually bring my mountain bike there, but my hybrid is good enough in that park if I stay away from the rough parts. I got to the park, rode around a little, and then decided to do some walking. After about a half hour of walking I noticed the sky starting to turn black. The sun had gone away while I was riding and then the white clouds above all turned black. I didn’t know how long I had, but I knew that meant rain was coming soon.

Rain did come soon, before I even got out of the park. I had to pull the bike under some trees where I figured I’d wait it out. I was glad I hadn’t left the park and protection of all the trees. It got worse after a while, then let up a little, then came down like it was never going to stop. The leaves only protected me for so long. I started getting wet after a while; not totally soaked, but no longer dry. I remembered being told once that the average human patience is about 15 minutes. I’m not sure how accurate that is, especially when waiting for rain to stop. I gave it longer than 15 minutes.

At some point I was getting so wet that it wasn’t worth staying under the trees any longer. I knew there was an open men’s room not far away so I had to decide to either get more wet riding over to it so I could go under cover and not get more soaked, or take my chances with the protection of the leaves. I figured with my luck I would lose either way, so it didn’t matter much. I decided to make a break for the men’s room so I could use the facilities before my long ride home.

As I guessed, I got nice and wet riding over to the men’s room. About 3 minutes later the rain stopped. I believe that falls under one of Murphy’s laws. I started for my trip home splashing through all the new puddles. One of them on the corner of the park apparently didn’t like my tire going through it so it tried throwing me from my bike. I was able to recover my balance before falling, but only with the help of a very hard tree that my right shoulder smashed into and gave me a nice bruise.

Ten minutes into my return trip, a sprinkling and light mist returned; not enough to run for cover, just enough to keep me wet the entire ride home. With the rain and black cloud cover, the temperature had also dropped by what felt like at least 10 degrees. Actually it felt like more than that when the wind blew against my now soaked clothing, which wasn’t much to begin with (shorts and t-shirt). The last 8 miles were kind of chilly riding.

I was not to be deterred from my photographic mission however. I still managed to stop and snap off a few shots in the drizzle. A couple times Mother Nature was even kind enough to stop the rain for a few minutes. I’ll attach one or two below here so you can see that at least it wasn’t a total loss.  Check my Facebook page for others. 

So there you have it. A typical Ty day is to leave the house on a beautiful, warm, sunny day with big ideas and return a few hours later cold, soaking wet, tired, sore, and with a few bruises, but hopefully with a few more pictures, because that’s the most important thing – to get a few more pictures – no matter what it takes. An added bonus was that I got some bicycling exercise. It turned out to be not so much fun exercise, but I suppose you can’t expect to have fun all the time.

Water Lilly in Rahway River Park, New Jersey

White Goose

Pool closed due to rain on 6-3-2009

Breaking Out In Song

I don’t know what comes over me, but every once in a while I just start singing instead of talking normal.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like good singing, or singing in tune, or even singing that makes sense. I am not the least bit musically inclined, so as the saying goes, “I wouldn’t know how to carry a tune if it came with handles.”  But none of that stops me from singing. Why should it?

I can only guess that I do it because it sounds so bad that it’s funny. Take last night for example. I was driving home after a long, hard day at work and not enough sleep the night before, I was pretty worn down and in need of a laugh. I was also hungry since lunch was about 6 hours earlier. I started thinking about what was waiting for me in the refrigerator at home that I could quickly put together and eat. I remembered there was some leftover spaghetti.

Put all these variables together, and all of a sudden I started singing this slow, pitiful, stupid song to entertain myself. It was sort of bluesy with a country twang. It went something like this:

Get ready. Come on, baby. get it ready.

I said, come on. Come on baby and get ready.

Daddy’s comin home and wants some sgetti.

Yeah get the sgetti ready, come on baby.

I want some sgetti. So get it ready.

Make it nice and steamy and plenty cheesy.

Don’t think I could take one more round of chili.

Get that sgetti ready for me baby.

Make it chewy and gooey and get it ready.

Don’t give me deli.

Don’t need no hoagie.

No need to clean out the pantry when there’s sgetti.

Sure don’t want anything that’s greasy.

No doing laundry.

No trying to distract me with your booty.

Don’t want to be hokey.

Cause you know this ain’t no jokey.

Don’t even care if today is not Wednesday.

Don’t make me wait it makes me crabby.

I said I’m ready.

For my spaghetti.

Maybe I could even wash it down with some Pepsi.

I’ll even try to save room to have a cookie.

So get it all ready

because here I come for my spaghetti.

Yeah, get it ready.

My spaghetti.

Get it ready.

Believe it or not, that little ditty lasted me half the way home. Just trying to think up words ending with an “ee” sound that I could use for the next line took some thought. Since I can’t sing and it was a stupid song and I was so tired, it made me laugh just singing it, which is what I needed at the time.  Good thing I didn’t have my tape recorder on.

That was just one recent example that I happened to be entertaining myself with. I do the same thing with others. I noticed though it is only around certain others, usually females because they are more receptive to the goofiness than guys are. Sometimes people will just say something to me that will remind me of a song and I will just start singing a line or two. It’s even funnier when that person has no idea what the song is. Sometimes I’ll try to justify my craziness. “Do you know that song?”

That will usually be followed by a slight giggle with a hint of terror in their expression and often a step backwards just in case. I don’t mean to frighten anyone with my singing.  All I really shoot for is making people laugh and have a good time, however brief it may be. If they look more scared than amused, I’ll stop and leave them alone. Sometimes people need help laughing and enjoying life and if it means I have to be the fool, so be it.

First Mow

More Notes From the Dumpster State

It was 95 degrees today. Being the moron that I am, I decided to pick today for my first day of yard work.   If you’ve read my earlier blogs, you probably know I’m not thrilled with doing yard work. I do as little as possible as seldom as possible. When the weeds are so tall that the bunny can hide safely right out in the middle of the yard, I figure it’s time for a little trim. Before I mow I spend about a half hour picking up all the trash that has accumulated under my hedges and in my yard. I live in New Jersey, so there is never a shortage of trash in the yard. I usually take a plastic shopping bag or two and pick it all up with my extended squeezey thing (yes, that’s a technically term you may not understand – see the photo).

Since today was the first yard day of the year, I had a little extra trash to pick up that had been accumulating all winter. As you can see from the attached photo, it took 8 bags to pick up all of today’s trash before I started mowing. People think I’m joking when I call New Jersey “the dumpster state.” Here’s the evidence – it’s no joke.

Trash picked up on property before this year's first mow

I hate liter. I really can’t stand it. I wish we had very strict liter laws that might possibly help reduce some of the floating trash around the world, but especially this state. I’m not sure what, maybe get caught throwing something out, lose that hand, or maybe the entire arm. I don’t think that would be too severe. I’d be all for it. Really let those criminals know we mean business.

I think there are laws against littering, at least in nice places like Maine or New Hampshire, or National Parks. There may even be a law against it in New Jersey, but I could never tell from all the trash I see daily in my yard and the extreme lack of policing such activity. I have no idea if anyone has ever been arrested, given a ticket, or fined for littering. I sure wish they had. I wish I could make citizen’s arrests or citizen’s fines every time I see someone littering. I would literally park my butt in a chair right at the corner of my property with my camera as visual backup and just wait there for someone to come by and liter. I would take their picture as I caught them in the act and proudly scream, “Ah ha! Got you, Sucker! That’s going to cost you.”

Enough with my rant. The morale of my story is please do not ever liter, no matter where you are. And if you ever see anyone doing it, just ask them something like any of these – “Where do you think you are, in a trash dump?” “Do you think the world is one big dumpster?” “Do you think we are all living in the middle of a world-wide trash dump and its okay to just throw your trash anywhere?” “Would your Momma be proud of you throwing your trash in somebody’s yard like that?”

Annual Spring Haircut

I went for my annual spring haircut today. I’ve been a little run down and out of it lately and had a bad allergy attack now that spring has sprung it’s nose-draining charm, so I figured today would be a good day for a haircut. I couldn’t bring myself to do it on a day I felt good. Why ruin a perfect day? I’ve never been crazy about short hair on me or anyone else, but once I got old, thinning, and then bald on top, I kind of gave up caring about my hair style. Now I just go in for a trim a couple times a year and that’s enough to keep up with what I have left.

I think I may have written about my last hair-changing experience in an earlier blog. Seems the last few have been sort of traumatic. Today was no exception. Since I didn’t care for my last haircut, today I went to a new place that I’ve never tried before. I was actually just driving down some street with time on my hands when I noticed a barber shop as I was passing by. I pulled over thinking I would run in real quick.

It turned out to be a barber shop in a predominantly Hispanic and Mexican area. It was a fairly large shop, long and narrow with 8 chairs on the left side with the mirrors on the wall and waiting chairs on the right. There was a big screen TV three quarters of the way back that had some psychedelic swirling stuff on it as if it was synced to the very loud rap and hip-hop music that was permeating the place. I said “Yo” to a few people who looked my way and then felt strangely out of place, which for some reason makes me feel right at home. I live in an area where whites are only 30% of the population, so I’ve gotten used to being a minority.

I noticed a bunch of people filling the waiting chairs on the right so I figured I was in for a long sit down. Before I had time to sit and spy a mag, Jose called me over from chair 4. “Who, me?”

He shook his head to affirm and pointed to the chair, so I sat. “Damn, that didn’t take long at all, Dog” I observed verbally.

Jose didn’t introduce himself, but I assumed that was his name when I saw a photo frame on the counter with “Jose” at the bottom of the pewter frame. He offered a friendly smile as he reached for the disposable cloth thingy he wrapped around my neck. He then clipped the big drop cloth over the cloth thingy and dropped it around my entire body. He followed that by some sort of mumbo in Spanish from behind me. That was when I first realized he knew little, if any English. That was also when I should have gotten up and ran, but I’ve never claimed to be smart. From my many previous experiences in barber shops, I surmised that Jose was either making small talk by asking me about the weather or asking me what kind of haircut I would like today. I went for the later because he didn’t look like a small talk kind of guy. “A regular cut,” I told him.

In case he didn’t understand me, I felt the need for adding some extra advice. “I want it short enough so I don’t have to carry a comb, but make it look as long as possible since I don’t have much left.”

Jose walked around toward the side of my chair, smiling like I was a crazy person he didn’t want to upset. My eyes followed as he pointed up over the mirror to a chart on the wall. There was a poster with pictures of about 40 different hair styles. Some were front views, some were side views, and some were back views. He pointed to number 33 and said something else that I didn’t understand. “No,” I told him pointing to number 13. “I want it more like number 13.”

Jose pointed to number 14 and said, “Number 14?”

“Okay,” I agreed. You’re the expert.

I figured maybe there was something wrong with my head that would prevent him from giving me the number 13 style. Maybe my head was too oddly shaped or maybe the extra crease in the back wouldn’t work with a number 13. Number 14 didn’t look so bad. I thought I would be able to live with that if that’s what Jose thought I should get. It’s not like I have much hair left to worry about anyway.

Jose had 6 different clippers hanging under the mirror. He went to reach for one and then at the last second changed his mind and grabbed a different one to start with. He brought it to my head and quickly went buzz, buzz, buzz all around. Sitting in the seat, you never quite know how it looks or what is happening as they cut your hair away, but I immediately got a feeling that Jose chopped off more in the first 3 seconds than I was hoping for. I take my glasses off to cut my hair so I couldn’t see anything either. Figuring that once it was gone there was no way to put it back on, I just sat there and let him do his thing.

To my surprise, Jose took off a whole lot more than he did in those first few seconds. He went around with one clipper, reached for another clipper and went around again, reached for another clipper and went around again. Then he went back and forth, up and down, all around my head chopping, cutting, clipping, trimming. I felt a little like the hedges on Edward Scissorhands for a moment. He was very fast and very good at it, but it seemed to me like he was getting carried away and chopping off a lot more than I had planned. Then again I thought, I didn’t have all that much in the first place, so maybe he’s just being persnickety with wild hairs sticking up.

At one point Jose reached for a different clipper and before I knew what was happening, went zip, zip, zip and trimmed up my beard. “Holy crap, what the hell?” I thought, but once again, it happened so fast it was too late to object, so I just let him continue. I’ve had a beard most of my life and I realize I keep it longer than current fashions and most people’s preferences, but that is me and that is my own personal style. Apparently Jose wanted to give me a new style. I started feeling like I was on one of those reality TV shows getting a whole new makeover. Wow, did I look that bad? Did I need that much work? I guess Jose thought so.

He went to town on my entire head. He chopped my hair, my beard, and then to my surprise even ran the clippers across my eyebrows, and then started trimming the hair coming out of my ears, my nose, and even trimmed my eye lashes back a little. He changed the little plastic thing on the end of one of the clippers and attacked my beard again…then again. He pulled out shaving cream and a razor and started shaving on top and underneath my beard, around my ears, on my neck. It was as though he was giving me the complete works.

That was about when I figured the ploy of this place was to act like you don’t understand when someone asks for just a haircut, give them a haircut and a shave, and make more money. At that point I gave up completely. Jose was so good and so fast, he was like a stylist, not just a barber. I have never gone to a stylist before. I figured if Jose thought that’s what I needed to look good, I would just sit there and let him do his thing. Of course he had to smack me a couple times and firmly hold my head still when I started bobbing it. For some reason, even though I don’t usually listen to that kind of very loud hip-hop music, a couple of the tunes were sort of catchy and my head started bopping to the beat until he held it still so he wouldn’t cut something that shouldn’t get cut.

I don’t know what it is with barbers around here who think they’re stylists. I can’t seem to get a regular man’s haircut anymore. Every time I try, I end up getting all my hair buzzed off. I realize I am bald on top and don’t have much left to worry about anyway, but that’s all the more reason to keep what I have. I don’t know why all these barbers want to take what I have left and just chop it all off. Not every partially bald white guy wants to be totally bald. I’m not trying to hide the fact that I’m bald on top by being totally bald all around, but it seems like I am bald once again. Jose skinned me and trimmed me and didn’t leave a whole lot of hair left on or under my head.

Granted, the mustache and beard trimming was nice, but I didn’t ask for it. I like having a long beard, it’s the only part left on my head that still grows hair. But apparently Jose thought I would look better with a trimmed stubble on my face instead of a full beard. He even shaved some on top and bottom to give it a completely different style. Now you can see my entire second chin. One of the reasons for having such a full beard was to hide my second chin, but that’s over. The second chin is back out and in full view. I might as well just shave the whole damn thing off now. I’m not sure what the point of having a beard is if you keep it so trimmed up it is only stubble and it doesn’t hide your second chin.

When Jose was finally finished, he said something else to me in Spanish, which (from previous experience) I assumed was, “what do you think?”

I asked him to wait while I put my glasses back on so I could see. When I peered into the mirror, all I could think of (and say) was, “Wow. I guess I needed more work than I thought.”

Jose smiled, like he could understand I was making humor, while I felt like a used car in for repairs. Assuming I was happy with the outcome (not that I could do anything about it now), Jose proceeded over to the register. Another weird thing about haircuts – there’s no returns. When they are finished, you can’t say, “No, I don’t like it. Put it back on.”

When Jose got to the register, I was ready for the barber shop “up-sell.” To my surprise, he rang me up for only a haircut. He had just spent about 45 minutes trimming every single hair on my head, including a massive beard trim, nose trim, ear trim, eyebrow trim, and neck trim and he still only charged me for a regular haircut, just as I asked for. Needless to say, I was confused.

That sort of insulted me and also gave me respect for my man Jose. I figured he charged me for what I asked for, but he actually gave me what he thought I needed to look better. I’m not convinced I do look better, but I’m not the one to judge that. I paid Jose for my haircut and then gave him a large tip for all his efforts, a smile, a thank you, and a gentleman’s handshake. “Muchas gracias, mi amigo.”

As soon as I walked outside I felt the breeze wisp over my ears with nothing to stop it and I was reminded once again what a beautiful day feels like on a shaved head.

Change Your Name

Occasionally considering myself a bright lad, I was reading this book today, 211 things A Bright Boy Can Do by Tom Cutler. On page 86 I found instructions I thought were interesting on “How to change your name.”

The shocking advice was to just “start using your new name.” According to this book, they claim that as long as you are not trying to deceive or defraud people there is no legal process you have to follow to change your name in the United States.

So, according to this book, all I have to do is start using a new name and it will actually be my new name.
How cool is that? (Very).

Now I’m wondering how often I can make a change like this. Could I change my name every year? Every month? Every week? I’m thinking, sure, why not? But the book doesn’t offer that much information. I guess you have to look that up for yourself if you are interested.

Can I change my name to something different each time I decide to change it? (Absolutely).

Can I finally become a Mary? (Uh, if that’s what you want).

Will anyone care if I change my name? (I don’t know. Maybe my parents might care since they named me first).

So many questions remain.

The book goes on to say that you can legally order up a new passport, driver’s license, credit cards, and open bank accounts with your new name. I might have to try this theory to see if it actually works.

They do however offer a disclaimer that as security concerns escalate and the threat of identity theft increases, you may find that making these changes requires some kind of legal documentation and a court
petition.

Yeah, I think in 2009 we have come to the point where you might need a little more than just “say it and it will be so.” This disclaimer made me immediate check the copyright of the book, which was listed as 2006. The fact that the book was published after 9/11/2001 with this advice really surprised me. I’m sure there are lots of every day normal people who have changed their name for some reason, but I began to think about some of the people I have heard of with name changes. I wondered if some of them had just started using their new name or if they did it in a more legal way.

Just for kicks, here’s a list of a few people that changed their names. How many did you know?

NEW NAME	BIRTH NAME
Alan Alda	Alphonso D’Abruzzo
Jason Alexander	Jay Scott Greenspan
Tim Allen	Tim Allen Dick
Woody Allen	Allen Stewart Konigsberg
Kirstie Alley	Gladys Leeman
Julie Andrews	Julia Elizabeth Wells
Jennifer Aniston	Jennifer Anastassakis
Fred Astaire	Frederick Austerlitz
Lauren Bacall	Betty Joan Perske
Lucille Ball	Dianne Desiree Belmont
Anne Bancroft	Anna Maria Louisa Italiano
Brigitte Bardot	Camille Javal
Jack Benny	Benjamin Kubelsky
Milton Berle	Mendel Berlinger
Robert Blake	Michael James Vijenco Gubitosi
Albert Brooks	Albert Einstein
David Bowie	David Jones
Mel Brooks	Melvin Kaminsky
George Burns	Nathan Birnbaum
Richard Burton	Richard Walter Jenkins Jr.
Nicolas Cage	Nicolas Coppola
Lewis Carroll	Charles Lutwidge Dodgson
Cher	Cherilyn Sarkisian La Piere
Joan Crawford	Lucille Fay LeSueur
Tom Cruise	Thomas Cruise Mapother IV
Tony Curtis	Bernard Schwartz
Rodney Dangerfield	Jack Roy
Tony Danza	Anthony Iadanza
Vin Diesel	Mark Vincent
Bo Derek	Mary Cathleen Collins
Kirk Douglas	Isidore Demsky
Bob Dylan	Robert Zimmerman
Carmen Electra	Tara Leigh Patrick
Dale Evans	Frances Octavia Smith
Zsa Zsa Gabor	Sari Gabor
Greta Garbo	Greta Lovisa Gustafsson
Andy Garcia	Andres Arturo Garcia-Menendez
Judy Garland	Frances Gumm
Whoopi Goldberg	Caryn Johnson
Samuel Goldwyn	Samuel Goldfish
Elliot Gould	Elliot Goldstein
Cary Grant	Archie Leach
Goldie Hawn	Goldie Jean Studlendegeh
Rita Hayworth	Margarita Carmen Dolores Cansino
Audrey Hepburn	Edda Van Heemstra Hepburn
Charlton Heston	Charles Carter
Bob Hope	Leslie Townes Hope
Rock Hudson	Roy Harold Scherer Jr.
Ice Cube	O’Shea Jackson
Tom Jones	Thomas Jones Woodward
Boris Karloff	William Henry Pratt
Danny Kaye	David Daniel Kaminski
Kid Rock	Bob Ritchie
Larry King	Lawrence Zeiger
Queen Latifa	Dana Owens
Michael Landon	Eugene Maurice Orowitz
Bruce Lee	Sai Fon
Spike Lee	Shelton Lee
Traci Lords	Nora Louise Kuzma
Ludacris	Christopher Brian Bridges
Madonna	Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone
Lee Majors	Harvey Lee Yeary
Jayne Mansfield	Vera Jayne Palmer
Dean Martin	Dino Paul Crocetti
Marilyn Monroe	Norma Jean Baker
Demi Moore	Demetria Gene Guynes
Mr. T	Laurence Turead
Lou Diamond Phillips	Lou Upchurch
Joaquin Phoenix	Joaquin Raphael Bottom
Freddie Prinze	Frederick Karl Pruetzel
Tony Randall	Leonard Rosenberg
Anne Rice	Howard Allen OBrien
Ringo Starr	Richard Starkey
The Rock	Dwayne Douglas Johnson
Ginger Rogers	Virginia Katherine McMath
Mickey Rooney	Joe Yule, Jr.
Meg Ryan	Margaret Mary Emily Anne Hyra
Winona Ryder	Winona Laura Horowitz
Susan Sarandon	Susan Abigail Tomalin
Jayne Seymour	Joyce Penelope Wilhelmina Frankenberg
Omar Sharif	Michael Shalhoub
Charlie Sheen	Carlos Irwin Estevez
Martin Sheen	Ramon Estevez
Gene Simmons	Chaim Witz
Kevin Spacey	Kevin Matthew Fowler
Danny Thomas	Muzyard Yakhoob
Liv Tyler	Liv Lundgren
John Wayne	Marrion Michael Morrison
Sigourney Weaver	Susan Alexander Weaver
Raquel Welch	Raquel Tejada
Adam West	William West Anderson
Gene Wilder	Jerome Silberman
Bruce Willis	Walter Willison
Tiger Woods	Elridge Tiger Woods

The Perfect Valentine’s Day Gift For 2009

Is it wrong to get your “special someone” booze for Valentine’s Day?

That was the thought on my mind when I saw so many guys going into the liquor store today.  I couldn’t blame them really.  We are in some tough economic times after all so who can afford jewelry anymore? 

Liquor - The Perfect Valentine's Day Gift

Like most guys, I reserve February 13th for the day I panic and finally think of my “special lady” in the same sentence as Valentine’s Day.  It’s a day that reminds me of our first year together when I accidentally expressed my true feelings of hatred for the made up “Hallmark” holiday.  I of course learned my lesson back then and have never repeated the mistake of expressing my true feelings.

My panic today began about a half hour before I woke up, as if my body could sense the day.  I was sweating profusely and falling from a mountain top with an empty box of chocolates and a broken parachute in my dream.  My morning panic scream was only the first of the day.

I set out early to stop for something before going to work because, well…still having no idea what I should get, I knew it might take a while.  Like so many previous years, I tried thinking of the perfect gift that she would love to get.  That lasted until my brain started to hurt and I traded in that thought for trying to find some damn flowers.  I must have driven up one street and down another for 40 miles and could not find a florist anywhere.  Where the heck did all the florists go?  Is buying flowers on the internet or over the phone the only way you can get them now?  Since I haven’t bought flowers in a very long time, I had no idea.  To settle my panic and stress level down, I decided to try jewelry instead.

I noticed I didn’t have to go too far to find a jewelry store.  I actually know where several of those are.  Not that I ever stop in or buy jewelry, but I happen to drive by them and they seem so damn big, you can’t really miss them.  The Jared place happened to be the closest one to where I was when I abandoned the flower idea.  I don’t know if the commercials run where you are, but around here they’ve been saturating the market with ads and adding new locations.  They had me convinced “she’ll love it” if I go to Jareds.  I noticed lots of guys heading in the store before me, so they must have seen the ads also.  I took a photo to add to my “what my camera saw today” portfolio, but posted the one without the guys in it to protect the (guilty) last minute shoppers.

Go To Jared's For Valentine's Day Jewelry Gift

I gave the Jared store a good two minutes of what I call price-freaking before I ran screaming out of there.  Talk about way the heck out of my budget!  I can’t possibly afford to love anyone that much.  I was really beginning to panic by this point.  It was getting late and I had to get to work.  I would not get out of work until late so I would have no more time for panic shopping.  The next store I noticed happened to be the discount liquor store.  That’s where I began to wonder if it was okay to buy your “special someone” a bottle for Valentine’s Day.”  I stopped a guy coming out to ask.

“Hell yeah,” he told me.  “A few shots of this and things will get romantic in a hurry, if you know what I mean.”

I could guess what he meant, but I didn’t ask.  I just thanked him and went on to ask someone else.  “Excuse me sir, I was wondering if you could help me out.  Do you think it will be okay if I get the little lady a bottle for Valentine’s Day?”

The guy asked me a series of questions before he would reveal his thoughts.  “Do I plan to buy flowers, chocolates, jewelry, anything else, take her out to dinner, somewhere romantic, propose, or anything special like that?”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no to everything, man.”

He then looked at me very serious and all mature like and said, “Then you better get the good stuff, like the 12-year old vintage…and you better buy a fancy bag to put it in, maybe even with a red bow on it.  Then when you’re done here, go into that grocery store, buy yourself some of those chocolate kisses and toss a bunch of those in the bag.  Then go over to the card aisle and find a card with some flowers on it.  Try to write some romantic crap on it like reminding her that you just gave her flowers and candy and for God’s sake, don’t forget to say you love her – even if you don’t mean it.  Just say it…unless you want to dump her, then I don’t see what the heck you’re bothering with it all for.”

I thanked the kind man for such wise advice, which I followed exactly since I was running out of time and ideas.  At that point I didn’t care if it was discount (or regular priced) liquor.  I had to get something.  I noticed in the candy aisle that all Valentine’s candy was now on sale.  I thought that was the dumbest thing in the world.  The stores begin to panic because they have all that candy left so they put it on sale to try to get rid of it before Valentine’s Day and the guys don’t even think about buying candy for Valentine’s Day until the day before, so they would have paid any price for it.  The stupid stores are just giving money away.  Oh well, not my problem.  I have enough to worry about.

Hope your Valentine’s Day is as fun as mine.

Allow me to close with a slightly revised version of my quote from last year (see my post for “National Oh Crap Day” on 2/13/08 that I think should be entered into a quotation book of some sort:

“Do not stop trying until you find someone to love. Once you find someone to love, learn to live with that pain – and maybe even enjoy it.”

NJ Motor Vehicle Services Still Sucks

To begin with, they changed their name to the Motor Vehicle Commission back when we had a married gay Governor, but the Vehicle Inspection Report I got today still has an MVS logo on it instead of the new MVC.  Far be it from me to tell them who they really are, or make them print new forms so they can charge me more.

 

The last time my vehicle was due for an inspection, I managed to drive for 7 months before getting caught.  I thought it would be nice this year to get my vehicle inspected before I got the $75 fine for driving an uninspected vehicle.  In today’s economy, I thought saving the money would be the wiser thing to do.

 

On my way to the inspection station last week, I stopped off to get my oil changed at a place that also offered a free car wash, which I thought was kind of them since they charge 20 bucks more than most other places that do oil changes.  They also top off other fluids; vacuum your carpets, wash your windows, and check a few other things for you.  I realize this is part of the reason they charge so much for an oil change and they hope to find things wrong that they can fix and make more money on.  I do enjoy how they present it as a special customer service just for me. 

 

They offered me a variety of options and upgrades that I respectfully declined except for one.  I agreed that yes, they could repair the broken brake light that I needed.  I was praising the heavens for the happenstance of bringing me to stop for oil on my way to the inspection station where I would have failed for a broken brake light if I had not gotten it repaired on my way there.  As an added bonus, I thought they might be impressed to have a nice clean vehicle to touch in this bitter cold, wet, and salty month.

 

All topped off with fluids, lights repaired, and coat shined up, I headed to the inspection station at the designated time they suggest for the least amount of waiting.  I waited there in line for 48 minutes, which I thought wasn’t as bad as the 2 hours I have waited before.  In our state, you drive your car up in a queue with cones leading you to a stop sign where you wait until the next available inspector calls you over to their open door.  You hand them the necessary papers, get out of your vehicle, and walk down a small path in the middle of the huge building to wait in the sardine can size waiting room where they make you stand under a heater that blasts 120 degree heat onto your head no matter what the outside temperature is.  As I waited in the very hot sardine can, I couldn’t help but notice a propaganda poster bragging about how they have reduced wait times down to an average of only 15 minutes and that it might be even less if you come during the slow hours, which happened to be during the time I was standing there reading that poster.

 

After all my fixing, shining, and waiting, I ended up failing the inspection because “my back brakes needed adjusting.”  I thought that was odd since my back brakes were one of the many things on a long list of items that got repaired (and cost me over $4,000) just three months ago.  “There must be some mistake,” I told the inspector.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I just had my brakes fixed,” I informed him.  “Try it again.”

 

I think he wanted to add a few extra choice words, but all he said was, “You have 45 days to get it fixed and come back to get re-inspected.”

 

I considered driving around the building, waiting in line again, and hoping for a new inspector to call me to see if I could one who could actually see, but I decided not to.  I didn’t know how many times they let you flunk in that 45 day period so I thought it might be better to take it back to the repair shop to get it looked at.

 

Today, being my next day off since my failed inspection, I made an appointment at the repair shop where they took all my money last time and had them check the brakes so I could blame their incompetence and maybe sue them for malpractice if they found anything wrong.  After reading my book for 3 hours while listening to CNN shouting all over the very warm waiting room (why do all these places keep their heat cranked up so high?), they called me to the service desk to inform me that they found nothing wrong with my brakes and I owed them another $111.68 for the privilege of that information.  Naturally, I screamed.  “A hundred and eleven dollars!  For what?”

 

“Well, sir, our mechanic did a complete diagnostic check on your brakes as you asked and said he didn’t find anything wrong with them.  That’s how much we charge for a diagnostic check.”

 

That was followed by blah, blah, blah, and then my blood began to boil too much for me to hear anything else.  I got back in my truck and screamed, cursed, and yelled all the way back to the inspection station.  By then I had a very sore throat, headache, and I think I might have strained a neck muscle.  After waiting 10 minutes for some idiot who couldn’t figure out how to push a button, pull out a ticket and drive her car under the gate which lifted up long enough for her to do so, I at least got a little chuckle when she finally gave up and drove in  the snow covered grass around the gate.  As soon as she was done fooling around with her new driving loop, I pulled out my ticket and went through the gate to wait in line again.

 

The line wasn’t as long this time, so I thought I would get prepared by pulling out and having ready all my required documents – license, registration, insurance card, gate ticket.  As soon as I opened my glove box I realized that I must have been wearing my other coat last week when it was warmer out, and I was here last, and they handed my documents back to me, right before walking to the hot sardine can waiting room, when I put those documents into the pocket of that coat, which was now hanging off a hook in the mud room back at my house.  I quickly laughed at the fact that I had been driving around every day since without my license, registration, or insurance card, which I think would cost me about $450 if I ever got caught.  Then I waited in the queue line until I could get up to the stop sign and pull around the building to the exit instead of going through the inspection line to get yelled at for not having all my proper papers.  I was happy for the shorter line today or I would have had to drive over the cones.

 

I drove home, retrieved my papers, and immediately drove back to the inspection station.  The waiting line was now a little longer, but still not as bad as the day last week when I came to fail.  After stopping at the front of the queue, I immediately pulled up to the door that said “Re-inspections” where a fat little girl with a puffy black MVS coat came quickly out to reprimand me.  “You are not supposed to come up until someone calls you,” she shouted.

 

I played dumb.  “I didn’t see that on any sign.”  In case she wanted a better excuse, I added, “I need a re-inspection, I wanted to make sure they didn’t call me from one of the other lines.”

 

She gave me her best annoyed look, but quieted down when asking for papers.  I was directed to get out and go wait in the hot sardine can again, where I did until they were done.  Today it passed.  When I walked over to get back into my vehicle, I asked the inspector, “Isn’t it funny how it failed last time, yet passed today…and all I had to do was pay $111 and wait 3 hours for a mechanic to look at it and tell me there was nothing wrong?”

 

He said nothing.  I actually think he pretended he didn’t hear me.  So I asked again.  “Isn’t that funny?”

 

He didn’t answer me and he didn’t laugh.  He stepped into his booth to enter my information into his computer.  I drove away with one final statement for him.  “You guys have quite the system here.”

 

I’m not saying they have an under the table deal worked out with the closest auto repair facility hoping most people will bring their car there.  I’m just saying I think it is very odd that my vehicle fails one day and passes the next without doing a damn thing to it.  And I really don’t like that it cost me almost $150 and 6 hours of my life for the experience.  I also don’t like that I got up at 6am on my day off to get this experience.  On my way home, I stopped at the liquor store.  I noticed it was only 11:48 am.  I can’t remember the last time I went to a liquor store before noon.  There was a guy walking out with what appeared to be his lunch in a black bag.  I asked him, “Is it wrong to start drinking before noon?”

 

“Hell no, man.”  He smiled, but I could tell he was serious.  “Haven’t you ever heard the Jimmy Buffett song, ‘It’s 5 o’clock somewhere’?”

 

Now that he mentioned it, I have heard that song and today I understand it a little better.

Marley and Me

I went to see the Marley & Me movie on Christmas day.  Until this year I have never gone to a movie on Christmas day.  There was never time for it.  There was previously never time to even think about it.  It was always rush around, do this do that, visit family, drive long distances, travel, wrap gifts, make meals, lots of cooking, lots of eating, some playing, some relaxing, but mostly travelling.  This year circumstances were a bit different.  I thought I would try staying home, sleeping late, relaxing and taking it easy for a change; ease up on the holiday pressure.

When I heard that Jennifer Aniston had a movie coming out on the same day that Brad Pitt did, I thought it would be interesting to see which “won.”  I’m sure they are both fine movies and will be well attended, but out of the two, I thought going to see Marley and Me would be a better choice for Christmas day.  Apparently lots of others agreed with me.

I could tell it was going to do well when the theater we were in completely filled up.  I went to an early afternoon show and I believe if every seat in the theater was not full, then at least most of them were.  I just read the story that the movie set a new Christmas day box office record, making $14.75 million.

That broke the previous record of $10.2 million, set by “Ali” in 2001, according to Media By Numbers LLC.  It went on to say that The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (Brad’s movie) also did well, but did not make quite as much.

Overall I’ve been telling everyone I thought the movie was good, or “charming.”  It was hilarious for most of it with a real tear-jerker at the end.  I could literally hear everyone sniffling and sobbing and I could see everyone wiping their eyes – including me.  I thought most of the acting was good and the directing (by David Frankel) was great.  The soundtrack sucked though; I prefer better soundtracks with movies, but this one didn’t need to use the music to tug at your emotions because the story was good enough. 

There were two things I thought were odd – Owen Wilson’s nose and all the kids in the theater.  I don’t really agree that it’s a movie to take kids under 12 to.  Yeah it’s funny and has a family with a cute dog in it, but the storyline and especially the ending do not seem appropriate for kids to me.  Of course I don’t have any kids so I may not be the best judge of that, but it was after all rated PG-13, and I hope that’s for a reason.

If I was rating it, I’d give it 3 and a half ties (out of 5) – get it, Ty giving out “ties” instead of stars?  If you’re over 12, I’d recommend seeing it.  If you want to save some money, I’d say you could probably wait for the DVD on this one due to the lack of any dazzling effects.

How to Talk to Girls

One of the funniest books I have seen recently is How to Talk to Girls by Alec Greven.

If you didn’t realize from your visits to the local bookstore, every year there is usually a Bookseller’s book, meaning one that most booksellers love.  This year, How to Talk to Girls seems to be the winner. 

On a recent visit to my local behemoth bookstore, I found a gathering of 3 or 4 employees.  As I got closer, I observed them all reading parts of a book out loud and then everyone laughing hysterically.  They seemed to be taking turns with this routine, going around the circle and letting each person read whatever page they stumbled on, and then laughing, then letting the next person read.  Whenever a customer would get close enough and look like they needed assistance, the clerks would reluctantly stop and usually explain their behavior.  “This book is HILARIOUS.  Would you like to learn how to talk to girls?”

Naturally, they were making such a spectacle that it raised the curiosity level enough with most customers and they would either say yes, ask why, or give a puzzled look because they were in their fifties and actually learned that skill many, many years ago and could not believe anyone would ask them such a ridiculous question.  No matter what the reaction from the customer, it usually required some sort of explanation and occasionally, if they had time, one of the employees would read another part aloud. 

I noticed they did this in a very skilled way.  If the customer looked offended, they would just read it to their coworkers, but loud enough so the customer could hear what they were saying, then when everyone laughed, the customer would understand the humor in the situation.  If the customer seemed at all receptive to learning how to talk to girls, one of them would read a passage directly to them and when everyone laughed, the customer would now be included in the circle of joviality.

Needless to say, I was one of those receptive customers.  I not only wanted to learn how to talk to girls, I also like a good laugh, so I was a sitting duck in the bookseller’s eyes.  I purchased my copy and continue to laugh at its wisdom. 

I’m probably breaking copyright laws here, but since I paid for the book and I’m doing so to recommend you also purchase it, I hope it might be okay. 

I thought what I would do is list maybe one or two things from each chapter that are my favorite parts so you get an idea of the hilarity and I will purposely leave out other humorous parts so you will have a few of your own laughs if you should want to go purchase your own copy.  I’m sure it’s widely available at any of your normal book purchasing outlets either in a box or online.  If you can’t find it and need help, let me know (because I could use more laughs).

The book is compact and to the point.  There are only 7 chapters in it.  They are listed below with my favorite parts from each chapter.

1. The Facts of Life
“93% of pretty girls ditch boys.”  The author doesn’t expound on that at all, but I assume the gist is to not let it get you down if you get dumped by a pretty girl because the odds are pretty overwhelming that it will happen.  There is no data source that I could notice for making such a claim.

“Girls win most of the arguments and have most of the power.”  He should also advise that they hide this fact from you at first.  If you don’t learn that by the time you get into a committed relationship, you quickly will.

2. Crushes
“The right thing to do when you have a crush on a girl is:
Never show off too much.
Don’t be silly and goofy.
Control your hyperness (cut down on sugar if you need to).
Make sure you have good friends who won’t try to take the girl you like.
If all else fails, learn how to get over a crush.”

Like most guys, I failed miserably at this until having lots of practice (thank God for the “more fish in the sea” principle). 

“Never show off?”  Forget about it.  Guys can’t help but show off how cool they are, how good they are at something, how smart they are, or for those more fortunate, how big their muscles are.  When all else fails, you had guys like me acting all “silly and goofy” because that’s all we had. 

Come on, “control your hyperness?”  Try saying that after downing 10 pixie sticks followed by a tall glass of Cool Aid and maybe eating a candy bar or three.  It’s either very difficult or almost impossible. 

The good friend who won’t take the girl you like wasn’t really a problem until I got older.  As a kid, if you were stupid (or brave) enough to admit that you like a girl or that she was your “girlfriend,” your friends would usually leave that alone because they know it will be more funny in about a month when she dumps you for being too silly and goofy and having no other talents or brains.  As you get older, guys get more competitive, so it’s a little tougher trying to keep your friends from stealing the girl you like.  That’s when the skill of trying to learn how to find a girl that you like who will like you for whatever unique reason you have for wasting space on this earth and not be prone to dump you just for a guy with muscles or a muscle car (yeah, good luck with that one!). 

Of course no matter how old you are or where in life you are, it’s only going to last so long anyway so you might as well work on the last part of “learning how to get over a crush.”  That’s the most important part to the author’s wisdom about crushes because that’s the skill that every guy on the planet is going to need, no matter who they are.

3. There’s a Girl for Every Boy
“Many boys go for pretty girls.
You can tell a pretty girl because they have the big earrings, fancy dresses, and all the jewelry.”

This is an awesome definition because it is so true.  I was in fact one of those “many boys” who tried getting a pretty girl to like me.  Ask any pretty girl what quality they like most in guys and they will answer, “Their sense of humor.”  That’s why I worked so hard on my silly and goofy routine.  I could pick up the hottest of the hot babes at the drop of a hat – as soon as I tripped over it trying to pick it up.  The part that I didn’t pay so much attention to was that they were wearing all the big earrings and fancy dresses.  I must have been raised a little more out in the country than the author.  Where I lived even the pretty girls wore pants a lot, but maybe he was referring to when they go out like to parties or the school dance.  They definitely wore dresses there so they’d demand all the boys’ attention when swirling around out on the dance floor. 

That reminds me of one dance I remember going to.  I was going to see the pretty girls at the dance, but I was going with my friend Frank.  My father seemed disappointed I would be going to the dance with another boy.  This was way back before there were any gays, so it wasn’t that he suspected or anything, he just thought I was too inept to get a girl, even a regular girl.  When I told my parents where I was going, my father looked very dissapointed, as if he had failed.  ”You’re going to a dance with Frank and not a girl?” 

I had to let him in on my clandestine operation of how to get the pretty girl at the right price.  “Yeah,” I admitted.  “We let the girls pay their way in and then we pick them up inside.” 

Dad seemed so proud when I revealed that little secret to him.  I guess they didn’t do it that way when he was a young goofball like his son.

4. How to get a Girl’s Attention
“Getting a girl’s attention takes a lot of work.  You have to show off a skill without looking like a show off.”

That’s where I had a huge problem since I had no skills.  To this day I still don’t, but I’ve learned how to mask that fact and compensate.  As I said above, one of my biggest (non) skills was to act goofy.  I was not really a class clown because I didn’t like performing in public for everyone – too much pressure there.  I was more skilled at being goofy and showing humor more privately to one or two girls at a time just to get their attention.  Now I am even happier I did it that way because as the author says, “class clowns never make a good love story with a girl, if you catch my drift.”  I hear ya, Buddy.

5. What to Say to Girls
Being the reserved type that I am, this was another tough area for me so in my goofiness tradition I would usually do something stupid like approach them by asking a totally ridiculous question that didn’t make any sense at all.  Something like, “Hi, Penny.  What do you think would be the best way to climb that tree and how long do you think it would take?”

I didn’t know anything about open or closed ended questions back then.  I just tried asking something goofy to get them to answer something and then quickly come back with a follow up and eventually roll that into a conversation.  Of course it was usually a conversation that started with a laugh from absurdity, but that was okay because it was kind of expected of me.  The tree question was actually one to get me bragging about my tree climbing skills.  I was a little monkey on the trees when I was younger.  Of course I was no Johnny Egan who could climb a tree with no branches for the first 50 feet up, but most of the pretty girls I flirted with didn’t know Johnny.  I preferred climbing trees with lots of branches that I could swing from one to the other with.  Every once in a while someone would offer me a challenge and I’d have to prove my monkey skills, but that was never a problem because I enjoyed it so much. 

I had no idea approaching a girl could be as simple as the author explains.  “If you want to start a conversation with a girl, first you have to say something like ‘Hi’.”  I had no idea it was that easy. 

In point of fact I did, I just thought it was funny that he would actually put that in the book.  I knew it was polite manners to start with a “hi” before you ask your ridiculous question that makes them laugh, think, or run.

This is the chapter that the author admits a personal weakness of his.  He claims that he is not shy so he does not have the personal experience, but he still offers some advice for those who are.  I thought that was kind of him to help out the poor slobs like me.

6. Compliments, Flowers, and Other Things
“If you like a girl, comb your hair and don’t wear sweats.  You don’t have to try too hard, but just try to look kind of clean.  After all, your mom likes you to always be clean and she’s a girl.”

Very sound advice.  Mom was always on my case about washing up, brushing my teeth, combing my hair, and annoying things like that.  I had no idea it was to prep me for meeting a pretty girl.  I didn’t realize wearing sweats was a problem with younger kids either.  I always thought the only ones who wear sweats out in public (if not involved in a sporting type activity) are those who are already married and don’t care how they look anymore or are too fat and get sick of buying new, bigger clothes all the time so they just give up.  In either case, I don’t think they will be trying to meet any more pretty girls.

7. Success.
“Winning victory (a girl you like likes you back) is a very rare dream for most boys.  If it doesn’t work out, just let it go.  Whatever happens, don’t let it drive you crazy.”

Too late, pal.  If you go through all you suggest trying to woo the girl all for naught, you’re going to feel rejected, depressed, and alone while the quarterback with the muscles, money, and the nice car gets the pretty girl who was charmed enough by your goofiness.  Oh, she might have thought you were cute and God forbid, a “friend she could talk to,” but wouldn’t want to date.  Once that happens, it’s straight to the liquor store to start working on your new party routine. 

So there you have it.  I gave you a few snippets from the book, but I left a lot out in case you want to go check it out for your own laughs.  I might as well tell you that the book was written by a 9-year old.  It is based on his observances of girls in the Soaring Rock elementary school, which I assume is in Castle Rock, Colorado.  Alec very wisely admits that in order to do “worldwide” observations he would have to do a lot more research.  I somehow get the feeling that he’ll be doing exactly that and we’ll be reading more about it some day.