Rap Music Make Me Violent

Well, not exactly but it does get me amped. I'm not suggesting we censor rap or anything but we should be mindful. Words are powerful. Words spoken over a beat by someone with charisma and swagger are potent. I recently quoted Notorious B.I.G. in a blog. To make sure I had the quote right I youtubed “Who Shot Ya?”. I was instantly transported to Brooklyn, mid nineties. As soon as I heard the beat with the “As we proceed...” I was amped. I was sitting in Starbucks chomping on a Reduced Fat Turkey Bacon with Egg White sandwich and I was charged. Luckily I didn't have my good headphones that encase my ears. Surely the sounds pumping through those headphones would have resulted in me punching the man sitting at the table next to me.

It was 8am and I wanted to get a mosh pit going. Biggie's voice on that track is so hard. It taps directly into the riotous section of your brain. Have you ever been at a party when “I Ain't Never Scared” comes on? Or an early nineties party when Onyx's “Slam” came on? It's like you wanna punch someone. Hell, you don't even mind getting punched.

Have you ever tried to write a quirky blog while listening to Biggie. It's a tall order. To get through my blog I had to change songs. I put on some Michael Buble to bring me down. Well, I had to finish my blog and plus it wasn't cool to be feeling so aggressive in a Starbucks in Eagle Rock, California at 8am.

There's no denying Rap is influential. If Rap can have such an instant effect on a methodical philosopher such as myself, I shudder to think what it can do to impulsive or impressionable minds.

It's powerful stuff. Anytime you can make a room full of women rub themselves...and it be cool...you know you're dealing with something crazy.

For me, I can translate the literal words of rap into my own mental discourse. So “throw your guns in the air” is pure energy. And that energy fills me but I don't take the advice literally. For me “throw your guns in the air” means “let your elf go and tap into your raw energy and let it propel you into a higher strata.” But what percentage of people do this internal editing? And, is it the inappropriateness of their words t o begin with that makes people get hyped? Could Biggie's voice rapping about love or American History make me Head Butt people in Starbucks?

I guess I'll leave that question to the experts...assuming that they are some out there.

I Can Hear Sweat Trickling Down Your Cheek

So, as my faithful readers know, I'm in week 3 of the P90X workout program. It feels like a fraternity with P90 folks sharing a bond forged in sweat affectionately called "X" by us in the fraternal order.

I don't usually take to groups. I write my blog alone. I stand on stage alone. I fight crime...alone. But for some reason I've instantly taken to being a member of the P90X family. It's like the end of Antwoine Fisher...by golly, I DO have a family.

So I decided to do my P90 workout at the gym yesterday. The whole point of P90 is to do it at home but this routine has a lot of jumping and I didn't want to disturb the elderly woman who lives below me during her soaps and daytime Judge shows. She might even get the idea to take me on Judge Mathis. Definitely, a slam dunk case in her favor.

As fate would have it, as I jumped, lunged and squatted in the empty class studio, there was a personal trainer meeting in the spin cycle class right next to the room I was in. All separated my glass walls. I noticed the trainers noticing me, their faces conveying concern, annoyance, jealousy, panic and intrigue all at once. It must have been the same look the people who owned the telegraph companies had when they saw the telephone...uh-oh. Here was a guy getting in an incredible workout with no machines, no equipment and no trainer. Looking on as I kicked major “X”, those trainers must have felt like a pair of acid washed jeans in 1989. Like the end is near.

I had a mind to peek my head into their meeting and say...The future is now! Don't be mad, UPS is hiring.

For the record though I think personal trainers still provide a great and needed service. And P90X is really for people who are either already in shape or highly motivated to get in shape. But nothing motivates as good as a live coach. Even the most elite and driven athletes need coaches to push them. So don't panic trainers. I still love you and it was my work with my good friend Kordo that made me P90X ready in the first place.

But seeing a room full of buffed worried guys was way cool.

You Oughta Be in Pictures

Have you ever gone into a place of business and seen head shots on the wall? Now, have you ever noticed anyone of the people in those head shots? My recognition percentage has to be less than 10% and I'm in show business. It's like the wall of your local dry cleaner is in fact a graveyard of sorts. A resting place for pictures of people whose careers never took off. To put in in perspective though, most people's show business careers never “take-off” The average income for actors in SAG is $5000/year. And that's after you factor in the millions the top ten get per year for their movies.

My question is what does a picture of someone that customers don't know do for a business.

CUSTOMER: I had doubts but now that I see Tony Carrington The Third aka Cop # 3 in Dog Day Afternoon shops here...I guess I will too.

If you happen to take your car to Prestige Auto in Encino, CA you will see the picture of a young, up and coming Comedian named Dwayne Perkins. The only mechanic I trust, Sako, asked me for the picture. I whole-heartedly endorse Sako and Prestige Automotive. I unequivocally stand by their work. But what does that do for someone already there to get their car fixed? Maybe my picture should be on their website or next to their add in the Yellow Pages. (People under 20 should ask their Moms what the Yellow Pages were :-)

I cringe every time I see the picture and I cringe even tighter when I see my, “witty when I wrote it”, caption on the pic with a purple Sharpee.

I plan on keeping my head shot in businesses count at 1. So if you need a Dwayne fix check out my blogs or head to Prestige Automotive in Encino, California.

After Before

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So I recently started doing the P90X workout routine. I was a fan of the infomercial but was resigned to watching the commercial and picking up a few moves. So my workout was P90X inspired. But Santa Claus was very good to me on my birthday. What? You thought Santa only delivered on Christmas. Perhaps you're not on the “really nice” list. This year Santa got me a Sony E-reader and the P90X workout set. Apparently Santa wants me to be a well read Adonis. Challenge accepted.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to take your body through a complete metamorphosis:

I accept but here's the problem, and this doesn't come from my Brooklyn tendency to brag... I'm not a good before picture. It's like I'm on day 30 already. A fact that I'm proud of but they won't use the testimony of a guy who got a little better. I thought about letting myself go for a month to make a better before picture but my vanity wouldn't let me get like that and then take pictures of it to boot.

I've made the mistake of telling people I'm doing P90X. A mistake amplified now that I'm telling the whole Blog-o-Sphere. So now the pressure is on for me to become an action figure. So long bread. I love bread so it's questionable if I'll be able to really get ripped. My close friends have already said they think my body won't change.

But I can't go out like a sucker. I'll just have to get used to being slightly hungry all the time. I'm sure people in third world countries don't eat til they have to loosen their belts while triumphantly rubbing their bellies.

On perk is now I can workout in my boxer briefs. Laundry was dominating my life, well sorta. Now I can workout at home like an action movie villain with no shirt on while wearing my blue tooth...10, 11, 12, have you taken care of our little friend...

I've always wanted to be in action hero shape so...here goes nothing.

Ye Olde Towne Clock

I recently shot an independent movie in a cemetery. I wrote a blog about it, like to hear it? Here it goes, “Rest In Plush.” The cemetery was more like a park, well kept, lush and breezy. A real mystery as there was no breeze outside the cemetery. Not sure if the breeze was a product of the design of the cemetery or if they have giant fans on either end set to “picnic” speed.

Whatever the case this place made my heart rate drop 10 beats. Serenity right now. The kicker? They have a clock tower on the grounds that chimed on the hour and politely hiccuped on the 15,30 and 45 minute mark. Not only was it peaceful but quite helpful. I think the reminders could really help people better sort out their time. Imagine jumping on Facebook and telling yourself you will only be a few minutes, two dings later and you realize it's been over half an hour. Time to stop Farmville and get something done. I personally don't need this as my internal clock keeps better time than the clock in the dashboard of my Saturn Ion. But for the rest of you folks with internal clocks not synced with the Official NIST Atomic Clock, wouldn't some friendly time cues be helpful?

I propose we install huge town clocks in America's biggest and busiest cities. Imagine a dong resonating all through New York City letting all 10 million people know it's 1 O'Clock. Even people in up in Poughkeepsie would hear a faint noise and put some pep in their step. The goal is that everyone would always know the time within 15 minutes. This could even help sort out domestic disagreements...Baby I lasted 3 dongs. What more could you want?...How about one dong but make it good!

http://www.time.gov/

Rest In Plush

I recently acted in a funeral scene in an indie movie that was shot at The Hollywood Forever Cemetery. This cemetery is stunning. Most cemeteries are serene. It falls in line with the whole rest in peace thing. But the people in this cemetery are not only resting in peace they are resting in lavishness. I've never seen such elaborate tombstones. Not that I frequent cemeteries or have a large enough sample set to make my case. But that's never stopped me in the past. Besides, my gut tells me the kind of coin it took to make some of the graveyard displays (calling them tombstones would be a disservice) could make a handsome down payment on a house. Many of the pieces had pictures of the departed on them reminiscent of the pictures you see of the writers in newspapers. Not that anyone reads newspapers.

The Hollywood Cemetery is the resting place of many old school legendary Hollywood greats. So I don't have a problem with it having an allure. It would have that without the eye grabbing displays. But this final resting place seemed to have the exact social dynamics of a night club: Invite a few famous people and watch everyone and their brother flock. draped in their best and trying to impress while “fitting” in with the people we've deemed stars.

But the problem it seems, even in death, is that those “famous” people typically have something that separates them that can't be bought. A look, a talent, a mystique that all the bottles of Moet in the world can't capture. Sadly, this cemetery seemed to have a few amazing Hollywood standouts surrounded by people looking over the velvet ropes trying to gain access, not to heaven, but to the heavenly VIP section.

Of course no disrespect to the fallen people or their loved ones. And I truly think all you could ever want is to be love and be loved at some point during the ride. And I'm sure someone loved every person resting there. And if those remaining find some solace in burying a loved one in style, I have no problem with that. I just want to highlight that that love they had trumps any display or the prestige of the place where the empty vessel may rest.

http://www.richard-seaman.com/Wallpaper/USA/Cities/JohnnyRamoneAtHollywoodForever.jpg

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hollywood_Forever_Cemetery

I'm on The Case

How come cops in movies are always being threatened by higher ups that if they don't get their act together they'll be writing parking tickets. Wouldn't a safe job like writing tickets be a welcomed departure from being shot at. Shouldn't it be the other way around. Shouldn't the detective ask for ticket duty because getting shot at is getting to be a drag?

Basically they're being told. If you mess up you'll get a way easier job for similar pay. It's the same logic that always made me think school suspensions were silly but detentions make sense.

PRINCIPAL: Hate school, do ya? Wanna keep acting up? Well, I'll show you. Why don't you stay at home all next week. Feel the burn?

I say, having trouble in school. How about some more school so you can better address those problems.

I used to get suspended at least once a year for fighting when I was in elementary school. I can't say I enjoyed the suspensions. I mean I did feel like a dry, cracking heel. But at the same time it was fun and refreshing to catch up on old re-runs of the Odd Couple, Bob Newhart and Quincy.

I get that these movie cops take pride in their jobs and they genuinely want to catch the bad guys. But with a clueless captain always threatening to throw them off the case and/or chew their butts off, I say write the parking tickets. The bad guy is gonna escape in part II anyway.

Touched By an Angel

A few days ago I was on parked on Sunset Blvd sifting through my mobile closet I call my car trunk. At any point, I have enough clothes in my trunk to go and start a new life somewhere else. Roll into a new town with just the clothes on my back...and in my backseat...and in my trunk.

My closet raid was interrupted by a friendly passerby. I saw him approaching and I could tell he was the kind of person that will turn even the slightest eye contact into a full blown BFF conversation. I knew this and yet his whole being yearned for a speckle of human interaction. Against my better judgment I nodded and smiled in his direction. Once I grin he's in game begin...

I was in a rush but this guy probably stared down twenty people before me without receiving any acknowledgement of his existence. He probably wasn't homeless but he was homelessy. My grandmother had a theory that she passed on to me that, at any moment anyone might be God coming to test you. Just a stranger on a bus... Not that you should treat people who aren't God like crap but the possibility of them actually being God can really keep you in on your peas and carrots.

I didn't want the next day's headline to read: Dwayne Perkins Snubs God.

So I engaged my non-homeless homeless (NHH) guy. He was friendly and my nodding and affirmations seemed to make his day. But then my charity case made my day. We noticed that he was wearing sweat pants almost identical to a pair in my trunk. He told me he had trouble because the pockets were shallow and had lost a few things because of that. I told him I could dig it. Then he showed me his new pockets. He had zippers installed! And there was my ah-ha moment. It was I who was the charity case. NHH blew my mind.

I have long since wanted to wear track suits 2-3 days a week. Problem? My two prized track suits don't have zippers. What NHH had done was so simple yet so brilliant. Perhaps he was my garment guardian angel. Whatever the case it was definitely a glaring sign that I should implement my track suit plan. As I write this my pants are in the cleaners getting zippers sewn in. Hey world I hope you're ready for my track suits. I'm going Jersey! … Or I'm going Miami … or I'm going Glendale, CA.

The track suit in question.

Now That's What I Call Progress - Volume 1

In show business it behooves you to make as few enemies as possible. Rap music being the lone exception. In rap, a well calculated rhyming war of words can translate into millions. In life in general it makes sense not to burn bridges. Seems like a good idea at the time but you'll regret it when you're swimming through piranha infested water where a bridge used to be.

So I've handled my career with this in mind. I actually like most of the people I know in the business and I'm tight lipped about the ones I don't like; half because maybe I just don't know them well enough yet and half because I don't want to swim with the fishes. So in my whole career I'm actually on record as disliking only one person.

And now the progress report. I hadn't seen my nemesis in a few years and recently had the displeasure of running into him. To my surprise I remembered being on record as not liking him but I could not remember his name. Fair to say I've let it go? The bane of my existence had become a footnote destined not to even make it to future editions of my story.* I would like to say I let go of my mini grudge but in reality I just focused on what was in front of me and kept moving. In time things in the distance became within reach, stationary things in my periphery were left behind, stationary things behind me were left way behind and I forgot who it was I didn't like.

Why the grudge? This guy came into a town I lived in playing the big time executive and dangling a pot of gold in front of the young comics. He tried to tell me I was nervous on stage right after I had in fact had a great set. His aim seemed to throw weight around and shake up the hierarchy that had been established based on funniness. I of course knew he was wrong and full of it. Just four months later I made my 1^st appearance on the Late Night with Conan O'Brien show. I probably should have let go then.

He who does not feel me, is not real to me therefore he doesn't exist so poof...vamoose son of a...**

* reference to a Elvis Costello song, “Everyday I Write The Book”

** line from a Jay-Z song, “H to the Hizo”

Brooklyn's Finest

As luck would have it some friends of mine scored some Jay-Z tickets and invited me to accompany them to his show. As Poetic Justice would have it the show in question is in New York. To say I'm stoked about the show would be an understatement. But still, I keep my excitement understated.

I mentioned to a friend I was heading to New York for a visit highlighted by a Jay-Z concert. I'm not sure if it was my cool delivery or the Brooklyn connection but my friend, who I have known for years, who's been to my place, knows what I drive and how much my mortgage is says to me...

MY FRIEND: That's cool about the show. Do you know Jay-Z?

What?! If I knew Jay-Z my friend, you and everyone I know would know that I know Jay-Z. I would work that in as much as possible. I would need a protective case because I would drop it all the time.

ME: It is unseasonably warm. It's funny because I was just saying the same thing to Jay-Z...yes that Jay-Z. Hov said it wasn't unseasonably warm. Wait till I call Sean and tell him other people also think it's warm. You know Jay's internal thermostat has been off since we were kids.

The bigger point to be made is my friend thinks enough of me to think I run with the likes of Jay-Z. Knowing my financial standing, more or less, my friend must think my talent is great enough to grant me entree to that strata of show business. Perhaps my friend thinks 2^nd and 3^rd tier Brooklyn representers rub elbows with the 1^st tier Brooklynites. Or maybe we report to them on our progress to further our great borough.

JAY-Z: Dwayne, please give your status report...ya heard.

DWAYNE: Well, last month I mentioned Brooklyn in 8 blogs and I've written 3 new jokes that touches upon Brooklyn and least week I wore shirts with the word Brooklyn on it 4 times...Don't you think Beyonce should sit in on these status reports.?

I don't know Jay-Z yet but I know his songs and they speak to me so it seems like I know him. My wish is that people will listen to my comedy ready my blogs and get a sense that they know me. Don't get back cuz you do know me like that...

Zombie FAQs

Sometimes a quick side note becomes so big that it has to become its own blog, a spin-off if you will. (And then Came Maude...)* In a recent post I wrote about people trying to sell their homemade music on Venice Beach. I compared them to Zombies, both in numbers and persistence. This of course led to some Zombie questions...

Why do Zombies and sleep walkers have to walk with their arms straight out or down but stiff? Rigamortis? Are sleep walkers dreaming about being zombies? Zombies should walk with their arms crossed with each arm rubbing the other while trying to stay warm. No? I mean they have no blood running through them so they can't be warm blooded. And why are these dead people 10 times stronger than living people? And what's so good about being un-dead that they want everyone else to be like them? Reminds me of people who live in LA who complain daily but are always encouraging people to move here.

It's like one person depicted Zombies and we were forever stuck with that representation. How about portraying cunning Zombies that live amongst us and use stealth tactics to attack the living. Or would they have to reclassified as Body Snatchers?

I actually have no interest in Zombies but I'm very intrigued by people who are into with Zombiism. Is it really fun? What's the deal with Zombie Walks? People in Non-third world countries have a lot of free time on their hands. I'll tell you that much. Shouldn't real Zombies use the Zombie walk day to plan a real attack. Catch us off guard. Sounds like a groovy movie premise. Hands off it's mine (providing it hasn't been done already. :-)

It's probably all in the Zombie White paper I haven't read.

Youtube Zombie walks if you have 15 minutes to kill...or be killed.

*”Maude” was a 70's sitcom that was a spin off of “All in The Family”

“Good Times” was spun off “Maude”

“Facts of Life” Spun off “Different Strokes” as was “Hello Larry”

“Fraiser” was spun off “Cheers”...it's a fun game.

I Tan Corrected

So I'm at my gym the other day and I got an offer that I could resist. A girl from the tanning salon in the same strip mall as my gym was handing out half-off coupons. As she handed it to me I of course laughed and thought to myself, the tanning promotion girl's got a keen sense of humor and impeccable timing.

Maybe she was hitting on me or just being silly. Or maybe she saw me and said to herself, “How can I make it into his blog?” As she handed me the coupon, as if for good measure, she said:

TANNING GIRL: Maybe you can go even out your tone.

Or, maybe she figured there's one born every minute so why not throw out a net and see if she pulls in a sucker. Perhaps she wasn't exercising her sense of humor but working on saying outrageous things with a straight face. Which, as we should know by now, can make a person millions. I mean if you can sell tanning services to a black man then the Eskimos don't stand a chance when you come with your tidings of ice. Perhaps this Manhattan Beach, California girl had Philadelphia style hustle.

I was almost amused to the point of taking her up on her offer. See the silliness through to the end. Almost. I am often encouraged by my commercial auditions where all the other guys are white and somehow they bring me in. It's like the breakdown* called for everyday white guys and Dwayne. I'm flattered that they feel they can sell their products with the likes of me without it necessarily being a “Black” commercial...Cuz they're not so stingy**.

But I think I will self impose and draw the line at tanning booths. The only booth you'll see me in will be in a diner or a late night karaoke bar.

*Breakdown – description of a role that a producer is casting for

**quote from the silliest McDonald's commercial ever. Hopefully Tongue and Cheek, hopefully. Also check out my blog about being recognized in Mcdonald’s.

Two All Beef Patties...

A few weeks ago I found myself in a Mcdonald's in New York City at 2am. Not my proudest moment or the best way to treat myself but the Golden Arches beckoned me. The Apple Pocket tastes better at 2am (pie is something you eat with a fork.) In fact, as the night passes, the fried apple slab continues to get tastier every hour until the Sun comes up and with it rises your better judgment.

I'm in line waiting to order my setback when the the guy in front of me, having ordered his nuggets with an extra side sauce with some difficultly and slurred words, turned his attention to me. Did he need me to supplement his meal? As I looked at him looking at me, he did the drunk finger in the air as you ponder move. There's no telling where that finger's going to come down and what it's going to do. On this night the finger came down into a point in my direction. Followed by...

GUY: I know you! You're funny dude. Hey this guy is famous! What are you doing in McDonald's?!

Why I'm getting a meal I'm going to instantly regret, of course. Isn't that what we're all doing here? I enjoy getting recognized from time to time and my Mickey D's cohort was friendly and clearly a fan. I wonder if I get any more “famous” if I'll have to give up occasional 2am Mcdonald's runs.

MY STOMACH: Come on man get famous already!...Please!

Or maybe I'll be given the coordinates to the hidden McDonald's that other famous people go to. Then I could enjoy my Apple Pocket in the VIP section. Denzel, are you gonna finish those fries?

Nothing Honey

I'm done with honey that doesn't come in a bottle shaped like a bear. Honey in a regular jar just doesn't cut it for me anymore. Give me a bear or give me sugar. Besides the obvious perk of pretending the bear can talk and chopping it up with him while you sip your tea...

ME: Wow Teddy, this tea is awesome. Thanks man! By the way what's Miss Buttersworth like?

TEDDY: I only met her once at this condiment party. She was cool. Very sweet girl.

ME: That's good. I hate it when famous people are jackasses in real life...

There is also the matter of honey application. The squeeze is exponentially better than the pour. When I pour honey out of a jar or use a spoon to scoop it out, I end up with honey all over the place. Throughout the day I'll find honey in and on odd places: my elbow (even though I had on a long sleeve shirt), on my shoes, on my kitchen counter tops, underneath my bed...

The bear shaped bottle is not only cute, it's efficient and clean. Although, bees may be going extinct so honey in any shaped bottle may soon be hard to come by. Save the bees please.

Save The Bees

No Librarians Please

If you're like me, you have certain professions that you just get along with and others that you clash with. It's implausible that it could hold true across the board but, with rare exceptions, I don't get along with librarians. We suffer each other but it's always tense. Even our 30 second interactions seem to have 30 minutes of suspense. Like we're on thin ice and even graze of a pebble will make the whole thing cave in. It might be my natural inclination to challenge rules vs. their natural inclination to blindly enforce any and all rules.

Book storage takes order but then again the books don't have legs. To be fair to Librarians, I actually have no problem with Librarians. What?! Yes, see the people at the reference desk of a Library who help you find books and deftly explain the Dewey Decimal system 60 times a day are actually “Librarians”. They're usually helpful and friendly. Whereas the people who check out your books are not technically Librarians. The clerk's 'tudes may come from being called Librarians all day but knowing deep inside that they in fact are not. But I'm not bitter. So actually, I don't get along with Library worker people.

I get along with Flight attendants quite swimmingly. It would take a long scroll to list the preferential treatment I've gotten from Flight Attendants. From being bumped up, to free bags of Tazo tea to once even being consoled because I looked sad, flight attendants dig me. They don't “mile high club” dig me but I'm happy for the extra drinks and free snack boxes.

I have a good history with drivers of limos and car services but my relationship with Taxi cab drivers is touch and go. Baristas are ambivalent toward me, even though I usually tip a whole dollar on a 2 dollar tea. I actually have a half way decent relationship with cops. (that admission stays here)

I get along with comedians, obviously. But I like musicians more. I wonder if we could generate a new dating site based not on how you describe yourself but what professions you get along with.

Oh you like Crane Operators and Bakers too? It's Kismet I tell ya.

Pull Over Jesus

A few nights ago, while driving down Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles, I saw two cops, pulled over, and questioning Jesus. I assume it wasn't THE Jesus but then again you never know. Hollywood is littered with look-a-likes who, for a nominal fee, will take a picture with you. Don't think Disneyland with Mickey Mouse welcoming you to the happiest place on earth. No, think a drunk guy in a dirty Shrek costume who smells like an actual ogre and has a yet to be named condition that causes him to spit loogies every 3 and a half minutes. None of these photo-op guys are sanctioned by any official body and they probably wear the costumes to dodge their arrest warrants.

I gather the guy currently portraying Jesus was on his way home from a day of intense character work, tired from all the healing. A method actor no doubt. Maybe he was displaying public drunkenness, or he Jaywalked. I'm thinking he stole a Gatorade from a convenience store. Jesus walks...in and steals. If Hollywood Jesus had any miracles in him the time had come to use them. Cops don't drive the squad car up on the side walk to have nice chats. Still in the back of the cops' mind it's got to be tougher to be a hard ass while looking at Jesus.

COP1: Let me see some ID?

HOLLYWOOD JESUS:My Son, my ID comes from above.

COP2: ID now?! Or we redo the Passion Of Christ. Right here.

COP1: Why is he bleeding from his hands?!

COP2: Okay Jesus...you're free to go and...can you put your finger in this water for me.

Maybe the cops needed some salvation albeit from an actor playing Jesus. I think Hollywood Jesus should rent himself out to people trying to make a point. After he cleans himself up of course. How cool would it be if you got Jesus to appear at just the right moment. Dude, just lend me the money. I'm good for it...what would Jesus do?...Lookie here..why don't we just ask him...I know that's not actually Jesus but that's gotta be a sign...Come on bro just fifty dollars.

Abba Dabba Do

So I saw this report on the pop group Abba recently. Their effect on the world is legendary. Their music? But I come to praise Abba not to bury them. My foot taps when an Abba song comes on (I was going to say “just as much as the next guy”, but what if the next guy is off beat. Or maybe he's doing a syncopated tap.)

No doubt Abba is a major part of the soundtrack of our lives. But this one guy they interviewed had “ABBA” tattooed across his stomach. He proudly showed it off so I don't think he lost a bet or was the victim of sophomoric hijinks. This guy willingly went to a tattoo artist and requested ABBA to be needled across his belly.

QSN: Can we blame the tattoo guy? I mean, a bartender can't serve a drunk person. Shouldn't there at least be a grace period for stupid tattoos? “Sir, are you sure you want a Mambo#5 tattoo?...Why don't you think it over for a few days and come back”.

There is no way to make an Abba tattoo sound cool. It's not a story people want to hear at parties. “I don't mean to cut you off Abba Dude but I'm going back to hear the Insurance Guy's soliloquy on Term versus Universal Life insurance...try the dip.”

At least Mike Tyson has a tattoo of Mao Tse Tsung. Which may not make sense but is so random that it just may make total sense. At the very least people want to hear Mike explain why he got it. Where as with Abba dude you instantly know all you need or would ever want to know. We're all set here Abba Dude.

The craziest part? Abba Dude is a black guy. Nothing wrong with a black guy loving him some Abba. And I say kudos on the stereotype dismantling. But it's a little jarring when someone links themselves to Abba with permanent body ink...When they don't even know them.

Let's hope it was a fake just to get him on TV. Let's hope.

Crystal DNA Ball

Recently on the Today show I saw a DNA expert telling famous people their lineage history. Minus the crystal ball, scarves and sage, it was a lot like a psychic reading. At least with a psychic reading, time will prove whether Madame Lenora is right or wrong. With DNA readings you have to take their word for it. That or get a second opinion. But who wants a second opinion after being told they're the direct lineage of Alexander The Great or have almost identical biological make-up to Julius Caesar.

I don't mean to be cynical but you had to see Meryl Streep's face when she was getting her DNA reading. It was the same look my Aunt Eleanor had when she got her palm read in Soho. Both were like putty in the reader's hand. It's exciting to think of your lineage. You can maybe even gain insight into your idiosyncrasies. Attilah The Hun was my Great to the 30^th power Grand father...No wonder I slap people for no reason.

Way more important than tracing back umpteen generations is how to you treat people today and what you're currently doing with your life. Okay, Shakespeare's blood runs through you and you're a distant relative of Warren Buffet...now what? It might be time to read a book and get that credit score out of the 300s.

I once spoke to my great uncle about my history and the insights he shed were touching and left me feeling better about myself. (shout out to Uncle Rudy) So, no doubt there is value in knowing about your past but even if you don't know your past or your past is not awe-inspiring, you can always choose to make history starting with you. And remember...charity starts at home.

By the way, Meryl Streep is my favorite actress and Eleanor is my favorite aunt.

Alpha Male For Sale

I saw a guy on The Today show on NBC telling another guy how to approach women. He told him to have good posture and walk into a room like he owns it. Bad Boy Swagger in a box. No doubt women like a confident man. I also recently had a group of women tell me the top thing they want from a man is that he be nice. Now when I say oxy, you say moron....Oxy...Moron...Oxy...Moron. I'm not saying a confident strong guy can't be nice but it's more likely that a nice guy may also prove to be confident and strong. He may not demonstrate those traits right away like James Bond. But when you think about it, most of Bond's girls die. High cost to pay for having the “perfect” guy.

Walking into a room like you own it isn't a habit of most “nice” guys. If you're really nice, why would you want to act like you own something that isn't yours? And even if you did “own” the room wouldn't you be a gracious welcoming host?

I say look for nice and hope you find confidence later. That's much better than seeking out confidence and not finding niceness. Then you're left with what has left a bitter taste in the mouth of many a woman: arrogance.

Arrogance and confidence are nearly impossible to differentiate at first. It's like telling a yam from a sweet potato. It's takes a trained eye. That's why you have to seek out good right away. You shouldn't have to excavate for goodness.

When I think back to the times when I had a swagger or pep in my step I was usually scared and overcompensating. When I'm the big dog in a room I don't act like it, I let others show it for me. Of course all this is held over from or cavemen roots. That's why guys all the world over like girls with a 0.7 hip to waist ratio (google it or yahoo it). But we don't live in caves anymore and society lets the weakest man wield the most power if his brain is powerful.

We can't totally escape our innate nature but to guys I say accept a 0.6 or 0.8 hip to waist ratio and women don't make nice guys act like jerks. What if it's permanent?

Emergency Exit Row

Many people will take the emergency exit row for extra leg room. The qualifications for said leg room?

1. Get to the airport early enough to snag one.

2. Say yes when the flight attendant asks you if you'll be willing to open the door, in case of an unplanned mass exodus.

QSN: I'm not too keen on exit row seats myself because to have one you have to give up your “under the seat in front of you” space. I needs my space! And sometimes the seats are narrower. Or they seem narrower because the arm rest extends all the way to the seat. The should call them exit boxes.

When you sit in an exit row you never think you're going to have to perform the duties you've agreed to. You certainly hope not. But I think about that plane that landed safely in the Hudson and all the emergency exit folks who had to step up. How did they fare? I think punctuality and a head nod are not enough qualifications for such an important and stressful job. We don't know how these people are under pressure.

I say we add a new criterion. If you want to sit in the emergency exit row, you have to thread a needle while people hurl insults at you. I figure if you can maintain focus and hand-eye coordination while someone bags on your favorite tweed blazer and someone else is making you rethink your hairstylist decision, then you should be all set with popping open the door when the plane touches down in a corn field in the middle of nowhere.

I've always vowed that I would take my laptop with me if I had to prematurely exit an airplane. I've got 5 unpublished blogs on this thing. The lap top goes with me! But last year, while home in LA, we had an earthquake. It lasted 30 seconds mind you and I was sitting at my laptop when it hit. I ran out of my place with no shirt on and no shoes...and no laptop.

My mom should find comfort in knowing my survival skills are still in tact and I would rather be naked in public than under a pile of rubble with my laptop.