Unusual Suspect

Shout out to Jolly Old London. I come here more often now and when I’m here the blogs just fly off my net book. Now, I try to stick to my regimen, no matter where I am in the world. If I’m in Paris, Georgia or Brooklyn, Michigan or London, Ohio it’s Coffee Shop, workout, solitaire and Law and Order if available (Seinfeld goes with me everywhere.)

Back to THE London…So I did my Coffee Shop hours and was trying to get a workout in before channel surfing for Law and Order: UK (yes, it exists.) I planned on doing push-ups and pull-ups and with the pound to dollar ratio at 1.7; I wasn’t in the mood to pay a gym 25 dollars to not use any of their equipment.

So I decided to keep it old school and workout in the park. In NYC we do chin-ups using the walk sign on the corners. That’s how you get ghetto diesel…and really dirty hands (see pic.) I put on my track jacket and shorts and headed out looking for some reachable apparatus that could support my body weight. I passed some sturdy looking scaffolding but there were men at work so I didn’t break my stride. I made my way to Hyde Park. A lovely park with ponds, wide open space, trees, running and bike paths and yet I didn’t spy a vertical pole I could use to bring by biceps and back to fatigue using my own body weight against gravity.

I finally saw a playground. At the playground, ya know, that’s where I’ll do my pull-ups… It was fenced in and lined with trees but I could see a monkey bar thingy thru a space in the trees. I made my way to the entrance where an official park person stood guard. She told me that you need to be with a child to enter the playground. What? Do a google image search on “chin-ups” and I guarantee pictures of adults doing chin-ups in a park somewhere will be returned. That’s what playgrounds are, workout centers. Just I wasn’t planning on giving my workout a back story of cops and robbers or making gun sounds while pointing with my finger. Now I have to walk away looking like a suspect? Well, put an adult chin up bar right next to the playground and then if I journey into the playground, fine, paint me suspicious.

QSN: Do that search on Chin-ups not pull-ups. Pull-ups might also return babies in pampers pics and land you on some list. Which would be ironic.

Aren’t young kids in a playground with their parents? Two women tried to go in after me and were also denied. (I think because I was still close enough to witness the potential double standard.) At some point our protective measures will lead to children being put in incubators until their teenagers. We’ll call it 2nd birth.

So, I did my push-ups in the grass and my pull-ups on a tree branch I could barely wrap my hands around. Which, given the close proximity to a functional playground should’ve scared people more.

Thai a Yellow Ribbon

I’m sitting in my Bed and Breakfast in Johannesburg, South Africa and dreaming of faster internet service, and Thai food. Decent Thai food, faster internet are both a long but doable walk away. In Los Angeles is Thai food is always a notion away. In LA, the Thai food twinkle in your eye and the delivery of a bouncing bowl of Tum Yum at your table are never more than 15 minutes apart.

Los Angeles’ Thai town sports almost as many Thai restaurants as people. Before I left LA I stopped by my favorite late night Thai spot. It’s in a plaza with 3 other Thai restaurants. Think of a 7-Eleven parking lot with 3 adjacent 7-Elevens, now replace those 7-Elevens with Thai eateries. Throw in a Thai dessert place, A Thai spa and a donut shop and the picture is complete.

Breaking news: The donut shop has been replaced by….(drum roll please)…another Thai restaurant. That is so “thinking inside the box” that it’s actually “thinking outside the box.” That’s 5 restaurants if you’re keeping score. Now that’s a market place! How people choose which one to go to is beyond me. I think I simply favor the one I walked into first. Two of them are definitely more crowded. One seems to be hip and the other busy one seems to cater to Asian people. The one I go to caters to me. Never too busy and yet it seems even more “authentic” than all the others (mostly Thai patrons).

I suspect the question is moot. I haven’t done any investigative work but I wouldn’t be surprised if all 5 were owned by the same person...okay maybe 2 different owners. Either way the semblance of choice combined with great food has them laughing all the way to the spa, which they probably own too but might be turned into another restaurant if its numbers slip.

Shutter To Think

I’m always tickled by the shutter noise my digital camera and cell phone makes when I take a picture. It’s hilarious to me that the designers thought it necessary to add the analog sound. It would be like adding an engine revving sound to an electric car to give drivers the sense that there’s massive horse power cranking under the engine; As if that could completely hide the fact that they can only do 80mph and have to charge it up along with their cell phone every night.

I’m pro electric car and I’m also pro digital photography. I’m not pro adding superfluous features to make these products conform to some notion of the technology they replaced. If you’re going to go that way then why not add a “rewind” switch and a “forward” wheel. We could go all the way with the silliness and make SD memory cards in the shape of film and have people drop off their “film” to one hour photo shops. Or maybe your photo printer should come with a cardboard “one hour photo” mobile kiosk.

Facetiousness aside, pretty soon most young people won’t remember that shutter sound. To them it will be the sound that digital cameras make…for some reason. I’ll either have to explain the sound to them or pretend that I don’t know what that sound means either. While I’m at it I can pretend I don’t get the Lady Gaga-Madonna comparisons and can’t remember when rappers used to say “rahhhh!”

I wrote the preceding text and then hoped on a subway where God provided the button to this blog. I saw a guy playing Pong on his Iphone.

Virtual Insanity

I was practicing typing while listening to the Economist magazine on line. I type blogs, scripts and jokes but I’m far from a typist. I read the Economist magazine but I’m far from an economist. I actually think the entire study of economics is a bit flawed. Technological advances along with good old fashioned human nature seem to necessitate changes in economic theory and wealth distribution that haven’t taken place yet. My support of the previous statements goes beyond the scope of my light hearted feel good blog. But I offer you this video I watched on the Economist online as snack for thought. Dr. Michio Kaku is predicting where technology will go in the next one hundred years. He describes a world much like that in the movie Terminator but thinks it will be groovy. If you have 4 minutes please watch and see if you were scared silly like I was.

Some Questions/comments for Dr. Kaku:
1) If computers can read your mind and robots can build cars then why can’t they pick up trash?! (Mr. Kaku seems to think the robots will eliminate many jobs but not trash removal. Huh?!)

2) Robots will be able to do construction. If they’re that advanced wouldn’t they be able to do anything we do?*

3) When we no longer have to work, when there’s no labor, how will resources be distributed? People either have to be paid based on a new set of criteria (funny blogs perhaps) or we slip into some weird high-tech welfare state.

4) When people can live forever and don’t have to work, will it make sense to let useless people live forever? After we eliminate all reality TV stars how will we determine who else is useless? If you think this video is scary the one before this was about the production of human-like robot eyes that can zoom. *I recently blogged about a supercomputer on Jeopardy. IBM’s Watson dominated two former Jeopardy champs. If fcomputers can dominate on Jeopardy, they can be taught to pick up trash!

Economist Interview:

Push The Little Pastries And Make'em Come up

I was recently in a Coffee Bean in Beverly Hills. Coffee Bean is the 2nd largest Coffee shop chain in Los Angeles. Of course Starbucks is the biggest. Coffee Bean is the runner up to Starbucks much like Sandisk is the 2nd top mp3 player after The Ipod. What’s Sandisk?...Exactly.* But I felt good being in number 2 on this day as the Coffee Bean was directly across from a Starbucks. Shunning a corporate giant for a smaller corporate giant isn’t exactly sticking it to the man but you have to start somewhere. Given the option at least I went with what was closer to Mom and Pop on the Mom and Pop-Evil corporate giant continuum. For the record Coffee Bean has better tea than Starbucks. Starbucks has better food, mainly because Coffee Bean doesn’t serve food. It’s a push on the pastries. QSN: Doesn’t “Push on the Pastries” sound like the name of an Indie rock group? Eventually people would just call them POP and that would be coincidental but we would call it ironic. I guess I’m all about the underdog as long as the underdog is directly across the street. A brilliant strategy when you think about it. Want to open a small independent coffee shop? Well, set up shop near Starbucks. Some traffic will be diverted your way out of pangs of guilt. Why be cliché when you can cross the street and be self righteously cliché? Others will head to get some indie brew to avoid long lines and no place to sit. Either way you’re siphoning off the man and championing small business. Who knows Starbucks may even pay you off and give you more to scram than you would’ve made in business. Sure, that’s the classic definition of selling out but…if a thousand Mom and Pops do this then… Well, I would like to say it would bring Starbucks to its knees but it’s more likely that scones will go up 5 cents. (in Robot voice) …Resistance is futile, Just go to Starbucks sip on your frap and enjoy Norah Jones on the PA system… QSN - Quick Side Note *News story on Sandisk being number 2

Close Encounters of the Crazy Kind

At this point my brushes with eccentric characters have become much like the “chicken or the egg” conundrum. Do I write about these types because I run into them or do I run into them because I write about them? I don’t think I’m seeking out these encounters but maybe the mere act of writing about them, attracts them.

Cut to me walking into a Ralph’s supermarket to ¬¬¬scoop up some Almond milk. I usually get soy milk from the ninety nine cents store but apparently soy milk has too much of the female hormone, estrogen. I don’t sob while watching Seinfeld reruns and I haven’t told anyone that it’s not what they said, but how they said it. Still, I figure I should take a break from using female hormone milk to mix my very manly protein powder after my very manly workouts. (Resistance bands are manly right?)

I walked past a guy in the parking lot and we had this exchange:

APOCALYPSE DUDE: You going in there?
ME: Yes
APOCALYPSE DUDE: You better hurry! They’re running out of food!

It took everything in me to not ask him some follow-up questions. Was it a certain section that was depleted? Were they also running out of toiletries? How about cashews?

I hope my doomsday soothsayer wasn’t offended that I didn’t speed up after his warning. It’s not that I wasn’t taking heed but no one else was heading toward the mega mart so at least I only had to contend with the mayhem already inside the store and those people already had the drop on me so keeping my leisurely pace seemed to make sense.

Of course Ralph’s was loaded. There were enough provisions to feed a city. To be fair, he didn’t say when they would run out of food. 2025 would be my guess. Almond milk is too thick for my protein powder to fully dissolve. I wish he would’ve warned me about that.

Money Where My Mouth Is

My love/love relationship with the 99 cents store is well documented in my blog. If you’re in Los Angeles, call me up and tell me your cross streets, I can tell you where the nearest 99 cents store is*. Yes my mom is very proud of me, in case you were wondering.

My local noventa y nueve store is in a parking lot with a really hip organic market. This market is the real deal. They sell grass fed beef. I’m told that’s much tastier and a lot better for you than beef that’s fed grain. The market is great and relatively inexpensive but at a huge disadvantage being right next to the 99 cents store. The 99 cents store has an extensive grocery section to go along with stuff like, “Hello Smitty” knockoff coloring books. I occasionally wonder into the local organic market when the 99 cent store doesn’t have eggs. I like local market but not enough to shop their exclusively or go there before I poke my head into the 99 cent store. I do however want the organic place to stay in business.

I have decided to go in the market once every other week and purchase one or two offerings to help them stay afloat. Last week it was a 5 dollar bag of Farina. Week before some tasty but “send you to the poor house” prawns. I’ve got my eye on beef with grass between its teeth. Basically, the local market will be where I go to buy my metaphorical sneakers.

I learned a long time ago that you can skimp on your outfit as long as you kill’em with some fly sneaks. I’ll skimp at the 99 cents store but go to the market to make my cupboard seem flyer than it really is.

VISITOR 2MY CUPBOARD: Wow, high end Farina, Prawns…somebody has stepped their game up. By the way…you should probably keep those Prawns in the freezer.

* I can also do this for Starbucks locations and I’m not too shabby on Ross Dress For Less locales as well.

http://figueroaproduce.com/

Gotta Idea...That I Wanna Share

A teenager in Mexico City is on a Hunger Strike until she gets an invite to the Royal Wedding. Kinda crazy but I think I now have the perfect plan to get my own show:

See me starve in front of CBS.
And know, that ‘til I get my own show, I vow not to ingest.
Talk show is cool but a sitcom is best.
Is that a Wetzel Pretzel?!
Ahhh...screw it I guess…CRUNCH!

Overhead Dread

We often hear stories of heroism so selfless that they fill us with hope that maybe just maybe we humans will make it on this planet after all. Someone jumps on a train track to save someone else or shares a kidney with a stranger, or “likes” one of your wall posts.

For me, these stories don’t exactly restore my faith in mankind. For I travel and I believe that until we can share overhead space on an airplane, we can’t really expect any type of peace on earth. How can countries compromise on borders when individuals can’t even team up to ensure no one has to check a bag? When people put itty bitty bags overhead or put their bag in sideways against the constant urgings of the crew and the big instruction label inside the bins, they’re not screwing some stranger out in the ether. No, they are sticking it to someone they’re about to spend 5 hours with. There’s no I in “fellow passenger.”

It’s just amazing that 100 people with enough money to fly on a plane need to get to territorial and petty. I have no qualms about moving someone’s bag or loudly saying, “who’s tiny under the seat bag is here taking up precise luggage space?!” And how lazy and uncaring do you have to be to not turn your bag 90 degrees?! It would be okay if the flight attendants didn’t plea with people to put their bags in wheels first 10-20 times while boarding.

Come on folks. Let’s ensure human existence on this planet. Let’s share overhead space. And after we do, we can work on people who take up two parking spaces.

All this, of course, is contingent upon the machines not taking over. 

Icing Like Tyson

For a boxer, being bequeathed a nickname is a sure fire sign that you’ve arrived on the boxing scene. If Mac “The Killer” Jones is fighting Ralph Henderson, “The Killer” has to be the prefight favorite. A sure fire sign that you have completely permeated pop culture is having a dance named after you. Iron Mike Tyson has both.

I was reminded of the reason why today when I watched a bunch of his early knockouts. A barrage of extremely powerful but even more accurate blows turned men into drunken incoherent mice. My amazement shifted from how can he hit that hard to why would anyone let themselves be hit that hard. I derived amusement from Mike’s competitors, dead men walking, realizing only at the moment of first impact, just how hard Tyson punched. There’s something purely entertaining about seeing the exact moment when a person accepts truth. That moment is even more entertaining when it’s accompanied by an uppercut that lifts them off the ground. The truth hurts.

Brutality aside, there was beauty in Tyson’s precision and raw power. Boxing is called the sweet science and Mike Tyson’s practice of the science turned the ring into a revolving lab where grown specimens could visit but not stay longer than a round or two.

I think my buddy and I enjoyed seeing Tyson’s targets drop a little more than we should of. Partly because of an innate desire to witness anything shocking but mainly our laughter was that of the nervous variety, knowing full well that we would have met the exact same fate and probably in half the time.

With fear comes intrigue and Mike Tyson had intrigue to spare. It’s a shame that his quest to legitimately be considered the greatest was derailed by all of his troubles.

Our attraction to beauty and perfection is even greater than our infatuation with shock. When all three are in the same package, it’s unlikely that purity will be left alone to fulfill its promise (see Michael Jackson). There’s also the sadness that most people extremely gifted in one area are necessarily deficient somewhere else. We don’t celebrate balance and consistency. We exalt talent and then feign shock when the other shoe drops.

But now twenty years after he first burst unto the scene, we are still intrigued with Iron Mike; Of course partly because of his antics but always because will be forever indebted to him for blessing us with his talents.

Mike Tyson is from Brooklyn by the way.

Broke Down Communication

I think there’s some benefit to wearing sunglasses all the time. Sure you’re “that guy” and you lose out on some quality interactions with people who’ll have none of your pretentiousness. On the flip side though, you avoid uncomfortable exchanges.

I don’t wear tinted bifocals, more out of a fear of losing them than a fear of looking like a jerk. I have a practical work around but having your sunglasses hang from your neck like a granny in between crossword puzzles is even too un-cool for me. So as I passed through security at Cleveland International with the windows to my soul exposed, I made eye contact with a friendly airport staffer. This gentleman was African American so there was the obligatory “Keep fighting the good fight” nod that black people often give each other in non-black environments. Also, I had just done 6 sold out shows and already established during my last show that an audience member would be on my flight. So it’s possible that the staffer was at one of the shows is all I’m saying.

All the aforementioned factors led to me nodding and that leading to small talk: Something about me going to a warm place and him wishing he could get away from the cold. So far so straight. Then he asked me if I had had a Cleveland tour guide. “Uh… No” Now I’m thinking Cleveland airport is all about hospitality. Like Cleveland is banding together as a city to make sure visitors leave with a good impression.

Then the airport staffer offered to show me around next time. I still wasn’t sure if he was at the show or making small talk or what. Since I was on my way out of Dodge I said “Sure, thanks…I guess…” I still didn’t know what was happening. Then he said he was on Facebook and I thought “Oh, he is a fan…whew…” Then Mr. Friendly proceeds to write down his Facebook url, number and email. And as I walk away he says “Call me anytime!”

Finally, I knew what was happening. He was a fan alright. Now readers, in my defense, black people can be very informal with each other and I’m constantly trying to make sure I’m not being standoffish like some snobby New Yorker or even worse an aloof Angelino. So I thought this was an example of down home folk being down home folksy.

To each his own but not my own. I’m straight like Indian hair. I suppose women go through this all the time, never knowing if a friendly guy has an ulterior motive. Well that’s easy. Of course he does. But for same sex encounters in non-gay situations how is the straight person supposed to know? It’s not like this guy wore a pink boa and flashed jazz hands. Maybe gay guys need a sign to identify each other. There’s the rainbow but that might lack the subtlety needed by some. Also, Hawaii is still all WTF about their beloved rainbow being co-opted by gay bars. There’s got to be at least one bar with a rainbow outside of it that is really just a straight Hawaiian spot.

Perhaps some odd sequence of words might better serve as the gay sign and something far more intricate than “how’s it going?” Maybe something like “Cream style corn is better served warm” and the response to let the other person know it’s on would be something like “And French Cuff Links shine brightest at dawn.” Now there’s still a chance that a straight person could say the cuff link line without knowing it was a code but in my case there was no exchanges of non sequiturs.

To avoid straight guys with tourette’s getting hit on. The best thing to do would be to have a secret gay handshake. Of course this would have completely shot holes in the otherwise very believable movie, “I Now Pronounce You Chuck And Steve”

I now pronounce myself a sunglass wearer.

“Jeopardy” in Jeopardy

I’m told a super computer called Watson will soon be a contestant on Jeopardy. “I’ll take signs the machines are taking over for a thousand, Alex.” Does this feel like the beginning of a Sci-Fi movie with a very unhappy ending to anyone else? I’m sure the Terminator’s back story was that he debuted on a game show before crushing mankind and then traveling back in time to stop the head of the resistance from being born.

QSN: How the man from the future, sent back in time by the Humans to ensure that the rebel leader is born, is the rebel leader’s father is a prime directive nightmare that still bothers me. I hate it when time traveling movies get cute.

Man won’t be happy until he completely makes himself obsolete. The day we say…

US: Look the machines can do all the work…

Is the day the machines say…

MACHINES: Then why do we need you. Human existence does not compute…

Why not let a computer host Jeopardy? Many movies already use computer generated actors. If the computers are doing everything we used to do then what is there for us to do? Spoken not like a technophobe but more a person who loves computers but loves people more.

Wouldn’t it be wonderfully terrifying to find that the most major share holder in the top 100 companies in the world is actually a computer that embezzled a nickel from everyone in the world back in the 80’s and invested it all in corporations. Crazy, but it would explain some things wouldn’t it?

Perhaps the human spirit will continue to reign over machine. Perhaps humans have that indescribable quality that Je ne sais quoi to win the battle against machine. John Henry beat the steam engine and then victoriously dropped dead. I hope we get to enjoy our win.

QSN = Quick Side Note

The Watson Super Computer competing on Jeopardy will air on February 14,15 & 16, 2011.

What’s My Queue

If patience is a virtue, nothing offers more opportunity to get your virtue on than standing in line. Be it the post office, airport, bank or butcher*; it just seems like people being serviced at the window judge the quality of the experience by how long they get to stand there. This is very interesting considering they were in line just moments ago when their quality gauge was strictly based on how little time the people being served ahead of them took. Classic case of the oppressed becomes the oppressor.

I’m okay with people needing to perform complex transactions but sometimes there’s over the top self indulgence at the window. Like when you’re in the bank and you catch wind of the conversation a person at the window is having with the teller and he’s asking the teller how inflation works and doing Eany Meany Miny Moe to decide if he should get cats or flowers on his checks…best two out of three.

That time is your time. I’m not telling window person to rush lest they forget something and have to re-enter the queue. I’m just saying don’t forget where you came from…THE LINE. It was you window person just minutes ago sighing loudly and shifting your body weight side to side like a restless six year old. Don’t get to the window and act like it’s a spa.

I apologize to anyone who’s ever been behind me in line at a post office. In my defense, mass mailings take mass postage. In a check in line at Heathrow airport, I timed a guy with one lousy piece of luggage took 5 minutes to check in. That’s an eternity. There’s not 5 minutes worth of things to do at an airport check-in counter. I checked in minutes later. I checked a bag, gave my frequent flyer number and confirmed my aisle seat. The whole thing took just over a minute.

What I taketh from the post office I giveth back at the airport. I tried to tell them, we’re all in this together**

* Butcher? Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention and appeal to any readers who live in places with butchers or any time travelers giving my blog a gander…How about this internet huh?!

**Line from KRS-One song. “I’m still Number One”

Pickey Picker

I was recently eating pho soup in LA’s most hip, Vietnamese restaurant. Want proof? The restaurant doesn’t have its name displayed on the outside, just a blank white board where one would expect the name to be.

I’m sure this is a tactical move by the proprietors. Save money and keep the local American Apparel wearing residents happy that they go to a place you “just have to know about.” It also keeps cost adverse people like me coming because after, all how much can they charge you when they look like they opened for business that morning? In reality it’s been there for years and customers in essence pay them to keep the ambiance at “street-cred” level. Pretty genius when you think about it. Imagine convincing a girl that costume jewelry was way cool and real gold and diamonds was for squares. What a beautiful world that would be. It could happen too. Oprah, please send out a memo…please…come on Oprah! Leave men with something good to remember you by. If Jay Z can kill throw back jerseys with on line in a song then Oprah can end trips to Jareds.

The Pho Café’s real selling point, as it should be, is the pho. It’s incredibly tasty and at any point you can look down your row (there’s only on line of tables) and see people chomping and slurping way more than they are talking.

When I finally came up for air one of my friends I was dining with offered me a toothpick…from his wallet…not in plastic! My other homie took the toothpick. I declined and instead got a nicely wrapped toothpick from the café’s toothpick cup. My toothpick wielding friend was a bit put off but I can’t put something in my teeth with direct access to my blood line that was in somebody’s wallet. I appreciate my friend’s consideration and I’m floored by his conscientiousness. It’s like he’s a professional eater or something. I once tried to have toothpicks on the ready but I put them in my front pocket and my upper thigh didn’t appreciate being tenderized as I walked. Nor did my cuticles enjoy being jabbed to the point of drawing blood every time I reached into my pocket. So I decided to leave my space between my teeth clearing at the mercy of my dining establishments or until I get home and floss. Maybe wrapped toothpicks in a wallet are the answer. Guess I have to start carrying a wallet now. Baby steps.

Two Quick Side Notes (QSN):
>It’s pronounced Pha. Trust me, it is. And no, I don’t know why they spell it with an O
>The Pho Café comes up on a Google search. I guess it’s a not so hidden gem.

Still Ballin’

So I’m watching TV in my hotel room in Tel Aviv at 3am. If jet lag is indigestion, staying up past 2am on your 1st night in a time zone 10 hours ahead of yours is like eating a chili dog to fix it. There was no need to exacerbate matters; I was sleepy so I thought I better lay my head on my pillow and just relax so as not to wreck the following day’s productivity. Then a European basketball game came on and I looked up and saw Allen Iverson playing for the Turkish team, Besiktas. What?!...So much for the next day’s things to do list. A.I. on TV in Israel? My hands were tied.

Allen Iverson has a reputation, earned or not, of being a ball hog and not a team player. Maybe age has made AI kinder and gentler but from my vantage point in room 1812 he was a total team player. Some might argue that his apparent team first attitude will either be short lived or is the product of his waning ability. Maybe he has no choice but to defer to teammates because the days of him dominating by himself have passed.

One could go on for days speculating but I think the best indicator of who he is and has become is that he’s in Turkey playing basketball! A former all star, 1st ballot NBA Hall of Famer and arguably the best under 6’2” person to ever play is willing to lace up his sneaks and play in a gymnasium the size our elite High Schools play in.

I don’t know if he needs the money but my guess would be that he simply needs to play. There’s no senior basketball tour like there is in golf. Although, I think watching greats in their 40’s play hoop has to be more entertaining than watching guys in their seventies walk around in plaid pants for 3 hours.

A.I. played hard every game. He often played entire games with no breaks. He often played hurt and he did this against people who were taller and weighed more than him. Sure, he was athletically blessed but he still left everything he had on the floor every night.

I usually side with the entertainer and despite our so called egos I have meet and worked with many greats who have tasted fame, seen it run its course but still lace’em up every night and give the people what they want. Be it a stadium, cruise ship, makeshift stage in a Turks and Caicos resort or an old folks recreation room.

Only time can reveal certain things and I think time has shown that A.I. is the ultimate performer and competitor. His Turkish team won. He had 10 points. I spent the next day yawning and eye rubbing but it was all worth it. And I hope when I’m 70 telling jokes on a local channel at 3am someone will watch me and appreciate it.

Hebrew Haha

So I met up with a friend of mine who’s an Israeli Stand-up Comic. I went to check out his all-Hebrew show. Watching Stand-up in a language you don’t understand is a neat experiment, especially as a stand-up. I found myself trying to decipher the jokes by tone and body language. Kind of like how an almost blind person can sometimes see shapes, I could see the shapes of the jokes… The old bait and switch, the act out, the rant, comedian in pain over something menial and mundane and of course the beat boxing comedian was particularly easy to understand. Like love, beat boxing is a universal language.

The rhythm of the show was very similar to a show in the US. Without knowing what was said I could tell the guys in the crowd were laughing at edgy things that were either angry or irreverent. The girls were laughing at things that were familiar, energetic and friendly. The comedian “type” was also easy to figure out. The intellect, the party animal, the angry guy were all on display and easy for this non-Hebrew speaker to point out. Not understanding the words seemed to make some things clearer.

Think laughter isn’t contagious? A few times I found myself laughing with the crowd with absolutely no idea what the joke was. I caught myself each time and dialed myself back to “not a fraud”. It’s one thing to not get the joke and still laugh on cue. It’s quite another to laugh when you haven’t the faintest idea what was said. What if he was talking about flogging black people or eating babies but not ironically eating them? It’s possible. It’s not like other countries are as politically correct as we are. Still, I was captivated by the exchange between performer and audience and it really put into focus how much of the crowd’s perception of the performer is based on how they look as opposed to what they say.

The whole experienced reminded me of a friend who’s grandfather did not speak any English but still loved to watch the show “Sanford and Son” I guess “you big dummy!” transcends language.

I’m writing this blog in my hotel room in Tel Aviv watching a German court show. I have no idea what the trial is about but the woman in the yellow shirt sure looks guilty.

This blog brought me back to the time I translated English to English in a NYC laundry mat.

Hey Mate!

I’m always tickled by non-white people with English accents. I get giddy and have to suppress the urge to ask them to repeat what they just said. A part of me wants to believe they’re putting on the accent and can break out of it at anytime.

ME: Look, this Asian guy can make himself sound like a bloke. Cool dude. Okay you can just talk regular now. No seriously cut it out…

I could never condone Dr. Moreau type experimentation but how cool would it be to take a Black child to Russia at birth and teach them perfect English…with a Russian accent. And then when he’s 25 drop him off in Brooklyn. Too cruel? Some challenges for him. Pure enjoyment for everyone he encounters.

ME: Look, homey puts Y’s in the middle of words.*
CWRA**: Styop tyeasing me. Vant a Knyuckle SyandWeach?

I don’t suppose this wildly unsophisticated tendency of mine will change anytime soon. I’ve been hearing non-whites with British accents for ten years and just like seeing someone get a pie to the face, it still amuses me. It’s especially egregious coming from someone who had to hear he sounds “white” most of his life.

*The hilarious and perfect mimic of many accents, Elon Gold. Told me the secret to doing a Russian accent is to put Y’s in the middle of words. Try it at home. (eg. Basket Ball in a Russian accent becomes BeYaskyet Byall) Hours of fun. Okay maybe a half hour of fun.

** Child With Russian Accent
This harps back to a little run in I witnessed on the bus.

Friends in Cosmic Places

Not to be competitive, but I would wager that, unless you’re in a rock band or are a magician, that I know a smidge more odd characters than you. It just comes with the territory. It’s always fun when an acquaintance or friend does something that catapults them unto the odd list or bumps them up higher in the list if they were already on it.

I recently dropped off a friend after a show who had long since held a solid spot on my list of odd people. A red-headed (but more orange), chain smoking comedy booker with a piercing nasally voice and equally piercing inter-personal skills. Still, we get along just fine. Although I questioned his being of this planet when I saw a long centipede looking bug in his hair a while back. The bug was the same burnt orange color that his hair is. He flicked it off when I brought it to his attention but it just took me back to Men in Black. Plus, I don’t think he was sufficiently freaked out that a long slimy bug was in his hair. So for a long time I held a faint suspicion that my friend was not human and in fact just occupied a human shell to do business and blend in until his mother ship returns.

Over time I loosened my belief that my friend who books one-nighter comedy shows in Orange County is actually an under cover extra terrestrial. Why travel across the vast galaxy to book bar shows? Although that would be a pretty convincing cover. So I dropped my friend off recently and he requested I drop him off at a barely lit Los Angeles street corner at 1am with no signs of people, residences or to put it short…life. The alien theory is back in full effect. I think I dropped him off at his portal back to his ship. I Made a U-turn and old red was no where to be seen.

Of course he may simply not want me to know where he lives or maybe wanted to score some drugs before heading to bed but I’m sticking with the alien theory.

Controlled Randomness

I experienced another God Wink. While going to get Pho I drove behind a license plate that said AWESM PHO.

1)who has a pho license plate?!
2)what are the odds of them being in front of me while i'm on my way to get pho.
3) this happened miles away from the Pho place in case you're wondering and...
4) it's pronounced Pha....

Check out the last blog I wrote about God tapping people on the shoulder.

God…Semi Colon, Dash, Closed Parenthesis

Leave The World More Slippery Than You Found it.

I find advertisements for general products quite amusing. Ads that don't ask the listener to buy anything from a specific company but rather to remember that the general product exists. The most notable being the cotton, milk and egg campaigns. Not necessarily in that order though. And who could forget the “other white meat.” (Hopefully that will save me from getting an angry letter from the Pork people.)

In reality, many general products have organizations charged with the task of promoting said product. I recently stumbled upon an ad in a magazine promoting synthetic oil. Ah yes synthetic oil has been there for us hasn't it? From babies taking 1st steps to birthday parties to prom nights, synthetic oil was there every step of the way making sure the engine in our cars kept running. It's integral not only to our happiness but dare I say, our existence.

Okay, the ad was for one synthetic oil company but there was no clear push to sell it so it felt like a general synthetic oil shout out. There was just a write up on the guy who “Changed lubrication History.” I think the editors of the Delta Sky magazine give its readers too much credit. Or this reader at least. Why not engine history or machine history? As far as words go “lubrication” is right up there with “moist.” Both take Gandhi like control to hear and not let out an internal chuckle or feel a little grossed out.

I can't imagine many people will see the ad, then run out and buy Amsoil Synthetic oil. They might giggle or write a blog but how many people on a plane need to deplane and haul ass to the synthetic oil store. I guess if the need for it ever does come up, I will call upon the company spawned by the father of synthetic lube, I guess.