If A Tree Falls On El Molino...

A tree fell over in my neighborhood today.
   We're not having any violent weather, no rain, no fire, no wind, no nothing. Nobody hit it with a car or took a chainsaw to it until well after it had toppled. One minute it was standing tall and the next it just... fell over.
   I happened to walk right past that tree on my way home from the gym not an hour before its demise. I've passed by this tree on foot several times a week for years now, with never a second thought as to its sturdiness or fortitude. It's a tree, for God's sake, it's a landmark, an ecosystem unto itself. As a matter of fact, a little dog was taking a leak on that exact tree as I walked by.
   Must have been one serious whiz.
   But as I watched the city workers carve it into little chunks small enough to fit into the wood chipper, I got to thinking. There is no constant in the world but change, after all, and when a neighborhood tree just pitches into the street you'd better take notice. Is this a metaphor I need to pay attention to? Is this some sort of message that the pillars of my identity are built on an unsturdy base? Am I that tree, purportedly strong yet fragile enough to collapse under my own weight? (no fat jokes, please) Is everything I am and everything I thought I would become - the branching of my own life from acorn to oak - rotten inside? Do I need to delve into myself and re-invent who and what I am before my proud canopy lies ignominiously in a metaphorical street?
   Or is it just a freakin' tree?
   I'm voting for number two. But I might start taking personal stock. Just in case.

Un-Welcome Back

It's been a while since I've really had to deal with Microsoft's insanity when it comes to software installation. I've had my iMac for a few years now, and even in my current 1099 gig - where I use a PC - I'm not the one doing the installing. I've been isolated. Become used to an operating system that just works. Seamlessly. I'll admit, I've been spoiled. Until today. I'm helping a friend out, and installing some video conferencing stuff on the Windows XP instance I keep on my Mac for just such an occasion, it's only there if I really, really need it. So far I've spent the past hour installing, re-installing, and re-re-installing stuff, all so I can get Windows videoconferencing on my Mac that already comes with it.
   Holy crap on a cracker, what a nightmare.
   I'd forgotten what an ordeal updates and installations are on a PC. Really. I'd blissfully put all that out of my mind and let Steve Jobs and his crew whisk me away on a comfy carpet of no-worries. First I need the security updates. And, being Windows, there are a LOT of those. Then the extra stuff like Internet Explorer - which this video conference thing needs - and then the .NET framework, and the updates to that, and then the video conference software itself. And on and on and on.
   And you know what? It's not going to work. You know it, I know it, Bill Gates knows it, the people who wrote the video conference thing know it. It's one huge pantomime opera we all agree to go through when we know the end result is going to be 'Just use Skype.' It's like a North Korean show trial, or elections in Libya.
   Why do I bother?

Can You Spare A Fiver For A Liar?

I was down at the local Rite Aid this morning, getting razors and adult diapers, the razors because I'm out of them and need to keep clean-shaven and the diapers because I'm very lazy. Nah, just kidding about the diapers. As far as you know.
   Anyhoo... there are frequently homeless people panhandling by the front door, in large part because there's a Salvation Army Mission a block up and a block over. Today was no different, there was a guy outside, kind of grubby, asking for money for bus fare. Seeing as how I'm 'between assignments' - STILL - I didn't have anything to give him.
   I went in Rite Aid, did my business, paid, and left. Since I had a couple of quarters change I figured I'd help the guy out, bus fare is usually seventy-five cents, fifty cents for the Pasadena ARTS bus. Only the guy wasn't at the door.
   He was in the parking lot, poking his head into a relatively new jeep.
   No lie, the guy begging bus fare in front of the Rite Aid had driven there. So not only was he taking a prime spot from real homeless people, he was lying about what he needed the change for.
   As he approached a woman just getting out of her car he saw me and changed his pitch. He needed money for gas this time.
   I thought about getting together a homeless posse and bringing some frontier justice to this guy, but I let it go. He'll get his, sooner rather than later, it's a bitch when you're crushed under the great karmic wheel.

Two Things To Fix

The elevator has been out in my building for going on three months now, and while I appreciate the owner showing concern for my cardiac health by forcing me to use the stairs every day, it is getting kind of old. I know it costs a lot to fix an elevator, but there are unavoidable expenses when you're a landlord, and this is one of them.
   And then there are expenses incurred that are completely avoidable, if, as a landlord, you'd just fixed the first problem.
   To wit: another tenant moved out this weekend, a third-floor tenant. Seeing as how there was no elevator in service, the tenants had to muscle their belongings down three flights of stairs. This meant rolling a dolly loaded with a couple hundred pounds of stuff down the stairs - thump, thump, thump - over and over again. This, of course, chewed up the stairs. Not that it's any fault of the tenants', they were just moving out. Probably because the elevator doesn't work.
   So now, by having put off fixing the first thing, now the building owner has two things to fix.
   Isn't this a lesson most of us learned when we were in middle school? If you let a problem go too long, it generates new problems. Why does it seem the people who should know this the most practice it the least?
   Let's see how long she takes to fix the stairs now.

Just Call Me Sgt. Schultz

I have been trying to re-examine the way I interact with the world. Lately I have noticed that I'm not noticing things, or at least not looking at things with the same kind of critical eye I used to. This is part of growing older, I suppose, but it's also part of growing lazier. Adults are used to having the answers, experience has taught us what things are and what they are not. At least most of the time.
   But I think it's better to stay ignorant sometimes. Or, at the very least, to let go of the idea that I need to have all the answers all the time. I need to be able to pick something up, turn it over and around and upside-down and get to know it for what it is, not for what I think it is.
   Little kids do this automatically. Toddlers, especially, discover something new all the time, every hour of every day. Things that adults know and have dealt with for years are things they've never encountered before. Corners on coffee tables, dust bunnies under the bed, fringe on carpets, tupperware, it's all new, all something to be examined and re-examined, broken and put back together again.
   So that's what I'm gonna do. Break stuff. Metaphorically, of course, some of my stuff would be pretty expensive to replace.
    note: for those of you who have no idea who Sgt. Schultz is, he was a character on Hogan's Heroes, which you can probably catch on Nick at Night. If that still exists, I don't know I don't have cable any more. His motto was 'I know nothing,' which is amazingly Socratic for a TV sitcom Nazi.

Maybe Next Year

A few weeks back I outlined what I wanted for Christmas this year. I didn't get a single thing from my list. Nothing. Nada. Bupkiss. Zilch. Zip. One of my nieces did give it the old college try with the leather shoelaces, but she had no better luck than I did. I did get a few questions about my list that I thought I should answer, though.
   Most questions came specifically about my desire for the still-beating heart of Bill Gates. Why would I want such a thing, and what had Bill Gates ever done to me that I thought the only way to even the score would be to subject him to an Aztec-style sacrificial death?
   Well, let me 'splain. What has Microsoft given the United States and the rest of the world time and time again, since the late 70's? One thing, above all.
   Mediocrity.
   Microsoft, and by extension Bill Gates, the man responsible for Microsoft, has given the world sub-standard software that works just well enough, but not really well at all.
   Because of Microsoft's half-assery, people have come to expect that kind of neglect and irresponsibility from everything in all aspects of their lives. It's the tragedy of just good enough. The software doesn't work like it should? Well, that's just the way those things go. The project didn't deliver what it was supposed to, on time and on budget? Eh, we'll fix it in the next go-round. The car seats don't meet Federal regulations? They rarely do. Overpaid jerkoffs blatantly steal, and abandon their fiduciary responsibility to the global financial system? Ah, well, that's the way of things. Local, state, and Federal governments are incompetent and corrupt? Of course they are, that's the nature of government.
   Don't you see? As a society we have grown used to things not living up to what they should be. We have come to expect shoddy workmanship instead of craftsmanship. We have come to expect prevarication and lies instead of straight talk and honesty. We have become so used to people trying to weasel out of obligations that we don't hold them to their word, and we're even a little embarrassed to mention it.
   And, yes, I'm blaming Bill Gates for all of that.
   He built his business not by focusing on what he was selling people NOW, he built it by focusing on what imagined he was going to sell people NEXT. That philosophy means that you couldn't give a rat's ass about making a good product today, because you're going to replace it anyway.
   The older I get, the more I realize that one bad decision today can screw up things decades later. Microsoft's history of bad products that don't work properly delivered years late only proves that point. Somebody's got to pay, someone has to be punished so that other people realize it's not okay, this is not the way things should be, and it's not what anyone should accept.
   Sorry, Bill, it's your mess and you have to clean it up. The Aztec way. Old-school.

Thanks, Hollywood

As I've related, I've seen a steep drop-off in weirdness around me, and many of my topics for this blog have to do with something odd that happened to me. I was running dry, grasping for ideas, vapor-locked and hoping for inspiration that just wasn't coming.
   Then, today, I had to go to Hollywood for an audition.
   I hate the drive, I hate that part of town, I resent every minute I'm forced to be anywhere in sight of the Hollywood sign. But, oh, the weirdness. Sweet, sweet, weirdness, falling into my lap like a gift from on-high.

Quick takes
   A lady at a stop light frantically stuffing a creampuff down her throat as she makes a left on red to beat the oncoming traffic. I can still see the powdered sugar explode around her face as she wrenched the steering wheel. If only she'd been on the phone too...
   The rapping bus-rider. The guy standing at the bus stop rapping up a storm, no iPod, no musical accompaniment, just him, his rhymes, and anybody with an open car window. Not half bad.
   The Sparkletts water man running across the street in front of oncoming traffic from both directions. Westbound had to brake to avoid splattering him across Sunset Blvd., and then Eastbound traffic had to do the same. Almost committing suicide to deliver water - dedication or death wish? You decide.
   People in the crosswalk who, for some reason, didn't see or hear the huge red fire truck barreling down on them. Everybody in cars with rolled-up windows heard the sirens and saw the lights, but the people crossing Sunset at Stanley had been struck blind and deaf. But they were surprisingly nimble when they realized it wasn't a movie shoot.
   Did you know there are 24-hour Subways? The sandwich shops, not the mass transit trains. Well there are, and I counted three as I drove down Sunset. How many transvestite prostitutes need a BMT at 3 AM? More than I suspected, evidently.
   Alligator Dave. There was a guy at the audition who signed in with the name 'Alligator Dave.' Seriously. Like Crocodile Dundee but not cool and without the Australian accent. He seems to believe that naming himself after an animal will help his chances at an acting career. He's about 23 years too late.
   The tour bus taking pictures of me as I left the audition where I saw Alligator Dave. The bus was stopped in front of the nondescript office building housing the casting studio, hoping to see a big star (I guess). They got me instead. I happened to glance up at the people on the top of the open double-decker and I saw a few cell phones, a few digital cameras, and one video camera pointed my way. I can only imagine the excuses the bus driver was making.

Why Can't I Remember?

Has someone ever introduced you to a friend, colleague, relative, or what have you, and you shake their hands, look them in the eye and exchange pleasantries, only to then promptly and completely forget their name? And I mean the instant they turn away you have no idea what their name is, and if someone put a gun to your head and demanded you say that person's name you'd be a dead man?
    Happens to me all the time. Just this evening, as a matter of fact, I was at a party where I knew exactly two (2) people. I got there kind of early - as always - so there were only a few others around. My friends introduced me, and I talked with these people, sometimes at length, about everything from football to politics to the parking ticket I was sure to get (which I did). As the crowd got larger I even introduced myself around, making small talk, getting to know people, and generally being a gracious guest.
   But I will be damned if I can tell you anyone's name. They said it when they introduced themselves, the hosts called them by name, I even used their names in conversation, trying to reinforce the association in my head. But when I try to think back and remember even the first syllable of a name, my mind is a total blank.
   Nothing.
   This is a problem. Why can't I remember these names? And it's not just with new people, it's with old people too. I'll get Facebook friend invites, and I can see that this person is 'friends' with people I'm 'friends' with, but I cannot for the life of me remember who that person might be. One of my friends from high school who also went to college with me has a freaky Rain-Man memory for all sorts of things, so I'll turn to him sometimes, or my sister has a high school yearbook from my Senior year she'll look people up in to help me out. Sometimes I'll end up remembering these people, vaguely, but most of the time I don't.
   So if you see me on the street, say 'hi' to me. I'll probably smile and wave back. But don't expect me to remember your name.

Say My Name

I have one of those names that's easy for people to get wrong at first. Dom, Dane, Dave, Doug, Dan, Donovan, I've heard them all many times. Usually I'll just correct the person if they call me the wrong name, they laugh self-consciously and then remember my real name from then on. The only time there's a problem is when I don't correct the person. And that's where I am now.
   My next door neighbor calls me Dan. It started years ago, when I left him a note on his car (it was leaking bright green coolant) and signed my name. My letter 'o' looked like an 'a' evidently, and he called me Dan. I didn't correct him because he was going to move out before too long. At least that's how I understood things. Didn't quite work out that way.
   Fast forward a few months and he's still living in the building. We see each other and he calls me Dan again. And again I don't correct him. I don't know why.
   Fast forward a few years, and he's still calling me Dan to this day. I only talk to him every few months, and he takes pride in using my name, he says it often when we converse. But it's the wrong name.
   I've let it go on so long now that I can't correct him, because rather than laughing self-consciously he'd demand to know why I let him call me Dan for years now. And he'd be right, it's entirely my fault. So now I dread the times when he wants to talk to me, because I know he'll call me Dan over and over again, and I know that I'll be unable to correct him, either because I want to spare his feelings or my own, the result is the same.
   Maybe he'll move out soon.

I'm With The Band

I've been hitting the job boards the last few weeks, trying to find a new gig. Not that I'm all that enthusiastic about another corporate job, but I do need somewhere to sit from 9 to 5 Monday through Friday. But as I was filling out yet another online profile for a job no one is ever going to call me for, a solution to my dilemma hit me like a bolt from the blue.
   I'll start a boy band.
   And I don't mean I'll be the Svengali-like behind the scenes maestro, like that creepy tax evader guy from the 90's. No, I'll be out in front, singing the songs and dancing the dances. The fact that I can't sing is in no way a hindrance to my plans. I'll be just one of five out-of-work old dudes in this new boy band. But which archetype should I follow?
   The Cute One - you might think he's gay, but he gets more ladies than all the others combined.
   The Shy One - his shyness is less a function of his own personality and more a function of the others' overbearing 'look-at-me-now' personalities.
   The Funny One - funny is such a relative term. He's funny in comparison to the other four, and in comparison to, say, bubonic plague.
   The Dangerous One - he's dangerous in a non-threatening way. Mostly this is expressed with tattoos (real or temporary), pierced ears, and greasy hair.
   The Smart One - he's smart because he knows what a book is, and he's pretty certain what one does, or at least what other have told him a book does.

I think I want to be the dangerous one, but I'm probably more suited to being the shy one.
   Now I just need a name for the group, and the good ones are already taken: Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Air Supply...

Did You Ever Notice...?

I used to like stand-up comedy. Really. Back in the good ol' days, before there were entire TV channels devoted to replaying mediocre comics over and over and over again. I think I reached critical mass last week, when I stumbled across a Seinfeld episode, and before I could change the channel I was subjected to some of his 'what marketing genuis thought of that...' lines.
   Ugh. Painful. So I thought about all the comedy routines I've seen over the years, and I've come up with a checklist, in case you want to try your hand behind the microphone.

How to construct your own stand-up routine and get on HBO:
   1. Dress down, but not too down. T-shirt and jeans are out, but so is a suit and tie. Business casual is right out, so you're left with 'Friday night club-hopping' attire. Since no clubs will let you in, ask someone.
   2. Get something to drink. Water is good, but so is a bourbon and coke if the bar is complimentary for performers.
   3. Get a stool to put next to the microphone. You'll need something to play with, and something to prop yourself up if you have too many bourbons and coke.
   4. Practice mugging in front of a mirror. You'll need funny faces, especially if your material is weak. And be honest, you know it's weak.
   5. Work out one physical bit. You'll need to jump across the stage, or fall down or something, because movement makes good television. Remember that you're working towards a mediocre sitcom, so think visual. Dane Cook is master of the non-funny, kinetic performance art standup comedy.
   6. Think about what to say to a heckler. Those meanines try to ruin your show by pointing out inconsistencies or telling you that you suck. This is especially devastating to those of you who do suck, so prepare a witty rejoinder in advance.
   7. Have head shots and credits ready just in case a network exec or agent is in the audience and wants to offer you a development deal. Have contract demands worked out, and be prepared to stand firm.
   8. Oh yeah. Think of something funny to say. (see next checklist)

Funny stand-up topics:
1. Those pin heads in Washington.
2. Airplane food.
3. Your traumatic childhood.
4. Your goofy relatives.
5. Commercials you hate.
6. Commercials you love.
7. What if television characters were real?
8. Some guy in line at the coffee shop.
9. Black people (if you're black).
10. White people (if you're black or white).
11. Asian people (if you're black, white, or asian).
12. Women drivers.
13. Since you haven't really done much with your life, your childhood is a rich mine of material, and it plays in with the physical stuff.

Tales From My Past - Crazy Lake Michigan

Before I relate this story, I swear it is completely, 100% true. I'll swear to God, Buddha, SpongeBob, whoever you want. I have a witness who was there for the whole thing.
   A few years back my friend Sean and I were in Milwuakee, WI on a road trip. We'd flown into Chicago and accidentally happened upon Uno, the real one, where you order your pizza when you put your name on the waiting list. Say what you will about a New York pie, authentic Chicago pizza is awesome. After stuffing ourselves on three-inch-thick slices, we drove to Milwaukee, and on the way had to stop at the Mars Cheese Castle in Kenosha. It's a cool place, but it smells like fondue. And the building is constructed with cinderblock, not cheese, so it's kind of false advertising. If they say 'cheese castle' I expect the whole thing to be made of cheddar.
   Anyway, we finished our business in Milwuakee and we had over half a day to kill before we had to be back at O'Hare in Chicago, so we went to Lake Michigan and rented bicycles. There's a bike path that winds around there, and even in August the wind off the lake was freezing cold. We got tired so we stopped at one of the park benches positioned every fifty yards or so.
   We saw an old couple walking together - it's not just a bike path - and they stopped at the bench next to us and spoke to the people there. Those people looked kind of confused and amused, but I thought nothing of it. The couple then ambled over to me and Sean.
   The man stood back, saying nothing, but the lady came over to us. She wore a pink and green pastel shirt, beige shorts, and she held her hands held up to her shoulders, palms down. She smiled. We smiled back. And then she said these exact words as she patted her hands on her shoulders.
   "Goody goody, goody goody, goody goody goo."
    Then she and her husband (I'm assuming) walked off. No explanation, they just went to the people sitting on the next bench over, and from the expression on those people's faces, the lady did exactly the same thing to them.
   .....
   Yeah. Freaky. And I swear it actually happened, Sean was right there for it, and to this day we are both completely at a loss to explain what the hell that was. Was she just bonkers and the guy was humoring her? Was she doing it on a dare? At her age? Was she marking us for death by ninjas at some time later in life? Who knows?
   That whole trip was full of odd things. Like the homeless guy Sean wouldn't let me have a conversation with, or the Miller Beer mad scientist's lair, or the Brewers game, or the dangerous convenience store in the bad part of town. All stories for another time.

False Recognition

A few years back when I was working as a government contractor and traveling a lot, I saw a friend from college in the Frankfurt airport. It was one of those weird things, I wasn't sure it was actually him, he wasn't sure it was actually me, and it was totally incongruous that we would see each other in passing in an airport in Germany. We said 'hi,' exchanged brief pleasantries and, bewildered, went about our business. Totally freaky, and awkward for both of us.
   Flash forward to yesterday. I was in a sketchy part of North Hollywood, after 10 PM. I pulled into a 7-11 to buy lotto tickets - you can't win if you don't play - and I saw my friend Jeff. At least I thought I saw him, more specifically someone in his car who looked like him. Jeff does live in the LA area, so it wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility that I might see him in North Hollywood, but it was after 10 in a not-so-great part of a not-so-great place and Jeff's a family man. Not a risk-taker, if you catch my drift. So I didn't go over at first, I was biding my time. In the store I watched outside, waiting for Jeff to get out of his car and come over to say hello. No such luck.
   I got my lotto tickets and went back outside. I leaned over and waved to the person in Jeff's car, catching their eye.
   Of course it was not Jeff. Not even close.
   See, Jeff's a white guy, like me, and the guy in Jeff's car was an Asian guy. An Asian guy who looks like Jeff from the back in the dark in a 7-11 parking lot in North Hollywood after 10 PM. To say that the Asian guy was wary and suspicious is putting it mildly. He actually rolled up his window.
   I guess I'm more dangerous-looking than I realize. In the dark, in a 7-11 parking lot in North Hollywood after 10 PM. Score one for me.

Are You F***in' Kidding Me?

Evidently Universal Studios has just bid highest for the movie rights to... wait for it... Asteroids. Universal is already in development on a 'Battleship' movie and a 'Candlyand' movie. Seriously, I can't make up stuff this stupid.
    Yup, they're going to make a movie based on a thirty-year-old video game that was nothing but a triangle and lumpy blocks. I used to absolutely KILL at Asteroids, I once had the high score on three different machines within bicycle distance of my house.
   And yet another fond childhood memory gets co-opted by corporate weasels...