Category Archives: humor

humor

Tiny car syndrome

I know I keep saying this, but it’s settled: I’m buying a Fiat.  Within the month of May, I will own a brand new white Pop model Fiat 500 with brown and cream interior upholstery.  And it will be just adorable.  I went on another test drive yesterday, and I’m officially sold.  It’s way better than a Yaris (sorry Toyota, it was a tight race until I saw the interior- why would you put your dials in the center of the console?!).

silver lining: repair costs would have been low

I’m suffering from some anxiety about buying such a small car, though, and these worries manifested in a dream last night.  In the dream, I bought the Fiat, but was given a small plastic car instead.  The kind children play with.  And I couldn’t tell the difference.  It was bright yellow and made of that solid but soft plastic that kids’ giant toys are made of.  I drove off the lot amid a loud buzzing sound the engine made, and couldn’t tell I wasn’t driving the Fiat I’ve been pining for during the last two months.

Eventually, I got out of my little plastic pedal car, picked it up with one hand, walked back to the dealership and stood there at the counter where I demanded, “This is not a Fiat.  Where is my Fiat?”

Where indeed.

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goodness, humor, life

Imaginationland, Ford edition

apparently I have paws

I’m currently driving a 1998 Ford Explorer, a car that was caught in the pocket between a time when CDs were the shiniest music-storage format, and when the iPod bulldozed the market.  There is no tape deck and no mp3 connectivity.  I’m not about to lug all my CDs down from my apartment (one whole flight of stairs!), and the car might just eat them anyway.  So I’ve been listening to the radio, which in Los Angeles means I change the station from rap, to hip hop, to top 40, to more hip hop, to classical (always on commercials), to top 40 before I give up with a loud, “Ugh, spare me!”  The on/off button often gets stuck, so sometimes I’m forced to turn the volume all the way down and endure the ongoing disaster that is Los Angeles FM radio at the level of a whisper.  It’s maddening.

Most of the time I do manage to turn the fucking radio off, and I end up driving in silence as a result, which leaves me with only my own pulsing brain to entertain myself.  Often I sing songs that would shame me to sing in front of others (Mariah Carey, The Dixie Chicks, N’Sync, etc).  Mostly though, I talk to myself… constantly.  Rather, I talk to whomever I imagine to be there.  Here’s how it breaks down:

Ex-boyfriend– It’s so weird how you needed a ride from the airport and none of your friends could pick you up!  No, I’m not sorry we broke up, are you?  Wow, really?  No, I don’t want to give us another shot.  My life is beautiful now, and you’re fatter than ever.  Here, let me remind you why I was always right about everything…

SUCKS TO BE YOU!!

That one jerk– Things are good for me, actually, thanks for asking.  I’m working really hard, having fun with the kids, getting my Master’s, learning Kung Fu, dating a great guy, everything’s going right!  Oh yeah, you have lost a lot of hair.  I wasn’t going to say anything.  Maybe it’s because you’re so depressed over your totally foreseeable divorce.  You’re right, it was your fault.

Family member– Look, you can’t expect me to give you all my lottery winnings.  I have charities to donate to, trust funds to set up, and I think half a million is more than enough to get you out of debt and on your feet.  No, I don’t think a nanny would be a good idea.  What will I do with all my free time?  I’m thinking of doing watercolors and finishing my zobo novel.

Member of the press– Y’know, I saw the gun and I just reacted.  There was no time to think.  My natural instinct has always been to help others, it’s no surprise that I would move toward danger instead of away from it, especially with the kids around.  I mean, that guy was already shooting, I had nothing to lose.  Don’t get me wrong, a bullet to the shoulder hurts, but it’s a small price to pay for paralyzing some maniac with a semi-automatic.  Yes, a flying side kick is something I learned to do over years of training, but I never thought I’d use it, especially on someone’s neck.  I mean, what are the odds?  No, I don’t plan to keep all the reward money for his capture.  Most of it will go toward my parents’ mortgage, and my sister’s school costs.  I’m a giver.

I’m not making this shit up.  This is how my brain works.  I’m a hero, a savior, the one that got away (and sometimes a superhero!).  The car has become my fantasy pod.  Car-travel has become a magical state that allows me to transform into a glowing, powerful, courageous ball of wealth-shedding light.  And if all that fails to entertain me, or if traffic is especially stressful, I look at my rearview mirror and pretend that all the cars behind me are my armada, and we’re traveling in formation toward our future conquest!  Yes, we may die, but the battle will be glorious.  Stand tall, comrades!  They will sing our songs and call us patriots of the motherland for a thousand generations!

the imaginary navy approaches!

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humor, work

Haiku distraction: le food

My coworker (let’s call her Lisa) is really good at talking, and I don’t mean that insultingly.  It’s what makes her good at her job.  She’s a networker.  She can hold thousands of tiny details in the front of her mind, and uses a hundred words to get a simple idea across.  It wears down the other guy, and makes whatever she’s talking about sound more convincing.

I went to a  meeting yesterday with Lisa and our boss (let’s call her Ruth) regarding food for a big event we have coming up.  Lisa said this meeting would consist of Ruth and our contact (the Manager and Chef) discussing pricing, etc., and Lisa would spend the meeting listening and taking notes.  I thought, There’s no way you’re not going to say anything.  No.  Way.

Lisa said she would
sit and listen.  I think we
both knew that was false.

Lisa will not stop talking unless she hears what she wants to hear.  She can be pretty pushy, but again, we depend on that side of her to get her job done better than anyone else in the office could.  Having said that, there are some words that are such an affront to the English language (on which, as you know, I have a pretty serious crush) that infuriate me to the point of spontaneous haiku.

“Guestimate” might be
worse than the manager-chef
dynamic.  Awkward!

When we sat down for the meeting, Chef was AWOL.  Manager was very professional, and clearly quite experienced with the price points and practicalities of each dish for the location of the meal, the number of people we wanted to feed, etc.  He’s the right man for the job.  Very professional and reserved.  Then Chef joined us.  Chef is a hulking, overweight, laid-back possibly German man with a thick accent and some good ideas, all of which were shot down by Manager.  Manager had trouble hiding his displeasure for Chef.  At the end of the meeting, Chef wanted to go back to the kitchen while Manager finished up with us.  Manager disapproved.  He asked Chef to wait.  Chef did not wait, lol.

He’s so straight-forward.
I really like this chef.  I
bet he spreche Deutsch.

Chef came to the table eating a brownie, then got up and brought us a plate of them.  Score!

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goodness, humor, martial arts, work

That girlish figure

Now and then I’m reminded that kids have no idea what the world is about at all.

One of them laid down on the floor after I asked everyone to stand up, so I told him that I’d once accidentally stepped on a student because he didn’t stand up when I told him to (true) and that he had cried (false) because it had hurt him (true).  He didn’t look convinced, so I asked the kids how much they weighed.

“60 pounds!  51!  55!  62!”  Wow, I said, that’s pretty good.  How much do you guys think Sensei weighs?

Here’s what I got:

stylish!

108 pounds!  80% of my body weight.  Just enough to make me look like I would neglect my health if it meant a modeling contract.  Look at how fashionable I’d be!

.

.

.

.

.

.

rockstar!

120 pounds!  89% of my body weight.  This just below my ideal training weight.  I’m about 125 when I’m nothing but solid muscle.  Awesome!

.

.

..

.

.

um... winner?

340 pounds!  252% of my body weight.  What?!  This kid was dead serious.  This was his best guess.  At this weight, I like to think I’d be a little bit proud, like I’d just won a really shitty contest.

.

.

.

.

.

clueless!

90 pounds!  67% of my body weight.  Yeah, maybe if I was 12, lol!  I don’t have a whole lot of good memories of being 90lbs (6th grade).  I had just experienced the fifth of five deaths that happened between ages 9 and 12.  I wasn’t unhappy, but I was very alone, and in hindsight, a little lost.  I’m happy to be an adult.

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.

.

.

censored!

1,698 pounds!  1,258% of my body weight.  That’s twelve Me’s.  Yeah, this kid was joking.  If he wasn’t, he’d still be doing pushups right now.  There isn’t a clothing size that would fit twelve Me’s.  Plus, droopy boobs!  Gross!

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.

.

.

.

.

stinky!

61 pounds!  45% of my body weight.  This was another serious guess.  Bear in mind that these kids had just told me  they weigh about that much, and you’ll stop thinking it’s a cute mis-guided guess, and start worrying about their super-short goldfish memories.  I would have to have been dead for a good month or so before I lost this much weight due to decomposition.

bitter and alone!

1057 pounds!  783% of my body weight.  At this point, I would have to make a choice: Aim for 1,698 pounds, or remain pissed off for being stuck in some fuck-ugly muu muu for the rest of my joint-crippling, asexual, two-seats-on-the-bus, stray cat attracting life.

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goodness, humor

Nyan

What can I say about the internet?  I loves it.  Mostly because of the cats.

Click the picture to see what I mean.

non-stop nyan

This might make it onto my page of goodness.

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goodness, humor

Fantastic government videos

Wow, United States Patent and Trademark Office.  WOW.  I am just… so pleased.

in a day when the size of your shoulderpads = how successful you were (like a female codpiece)

I did my first successful freelance martial arts gig about a week ago, and I was passing out cards with the name of my operation, but I haven’t trademarked it yet.  I googled “trademark,” and the USPTO (United States Patent and Trademark Office) came up.  And hey look!  They had an instructive video for noobs!  How sweet.  I’ll bet it consists of some plain woman walking around some dismal office in a pant-suit and shoulder pads (circa 1985), listing in a thin monotone while vaguely gesturing to the cheap bullet points that appear next to her as she lists all the boring shit I’ll have to read and fill out to get the process started.  Her hair will be the most entertaining visual aid, and her tobacco-stained teeth will resemble the linoleum in my bubbie’s kitchen.  The image will be grainy.  It’ll look like some shitty high school project.  Someone will walk by near the water cooler and engage in some jerky, awkwardly informative dialog with our host, then mercifully slink away, allowing her to once again focus on us, her victi-I mean viewers, with her dead gorgon eyes.

Yes, my expectations were good and set.  I’ve been putting off watching this video for a solid couple of weeks.  Well no more!  If I must watch it, then so be it!  My little one-woman company must must forward!  To the future!  To the trademark office!  To the educational video!

initiate fake shiny logo!

About ten seconds into this video, the collective weight of all my nasty assumptions imploded upon itself like a dying star.  The USPTO has apparently created an informative video in the guise of a mock news channel, complete with graphics, anchors (with names like Mark Trademan), a well-designed newsroom (completely digitally created), and even a little ticker along the bottom and feeds “United States patent and Trademark Office – Search on TESS – File on TEAS” over and over.  Not exactly informative, but it lends a sense of authenticity to have scrolling text meander across the bottom 5% of the screen.

It’s called TMIN (Trademark Information Network), and boy am I impressed.  Let’s watch!

is he winking at us?

Holy shit, it’s the Undersecretary of Commerce for Intellectual Property, live via satelite!  How did they swing that?  CNN’s been trying to nail that guy down for weeks!  And the Deputy Undersecretary!  The Undersecretary explains quite clearly what the differences between a patent, trademark, and copyrights are.

Too bad he’s stuck in that totally unfurnished office.  At least he has a nice view of the autumn colors until the cleaning crew arrives to let him out.

Now it’s up to the Deputy Undersecretary to really thrill us with her stunning delivery of the process of trademarking, etc.  Take it away, Sharon!

that's her "winner's flinch"

Woah, never mind!  Grab a nap, relax, maybe stop having that seizure first.

talk about trademark infringement

Wait, is that “reporter” in a Radioshack?  I thought this was a news room.

But enough chit-chat with the higher-ups.  It’s time for a 3D graphics display from an incredible, entirely fabricated piece of machinery, followed by a sit-down interview with OH MAI GAWD it’s a pant-suit!  And shoulder pads!  We found them, and they were here all along!  They were hanging out with the awkwardly informative dialog!  Yikes, it’s almost like she’s wearing camouflage of some kind.

"I borrowed this outfit from my mommy."

This guy just said we can use trademarks without registering them with the USPTO.  Wtf?  Oh wait, I need to protect it somehow.  Damn, never mind.

Wait!  This lady just said that the people who enforce this protection is the trademark owner.  So if someone tries to use my logo on their stuff, I get to use my ninja skillz to stop them?  And that’s legal?  Who knew the USPTO would encourage street justice?  I’m seriously diggin’ this video.

Bearing in mind that this thing was written by the guy who plays the head anchor, it really wasn’t half bad, especially given all I’ve retained about trademarking.  There are ten videos on his page.  My weekend is shaping right up.

EDUCATIONAL MATERIAL:

Patents are usually for inventions of some kind, things like machinery.  Trademarks are business-oriented, and protect brand names, slogans and logos.  Copyrights are often “entertainment oriented,” and protect books, movies, paintings and music.

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family, goodness, humor, life

Delightful disaster

scary-accurate

So… *sigh* I’m not known for being the best driver in the world.  I wrecked my first car within the first two years of ownership.  My second car (another Pontiac Grand Am) gave me all kinds of trouble.  I also had the occasional close-encounter with poles.  I sold it about a month ago just before it hit 100k miles and its value really plummeted, so I’ve been driving the car previously known as my dad’s old car, and before that known as my mom’s old car.  It’s a 13 year-old pile of American metal with 130k miles on it.  It’s louder and even less fuel efficient than my Pontiac was.  Time to get a new car.

A couple good people from out of town came to visit my family and see the sights of Los Angeles this past week.  We had a blast.  I spent all my time off driving them around my hometown, people-watching like a tourist and enjoying the company of people I don’t get to see nearly often enough.  You can imagine my delight when I was handed a chance to unwittingly entertain them with my notorious ability to cause body-damage to vehicles.

I was telling them all about the LA riots in 1992, and how my family chose to abandon our house when we could smell smoke from all the businesses being burned down just a couple miles to the south.  On our way out of town, we drove through a firefight between some armed civilians and the LAPD.  Just as we were discussing this, BANG!  The rear window shattered.  I was backing up SLOWLY into a parking spot in a poorly lit underground lot, and the back window touched what looked like an air duct.  Apparently safety glass all breaks at once, and with the same enthusiasm as a gun going off.

Even so, it was a fun day.  We went to a museum, had lunch at Umami, visited The Farmer’s Market and The Grove, saw the lights at LACMA, had Korean food for dinner, and gelato in Silverlake for dessert.  The window incident was a source of comedy and proof of the unpredictable delights of backing into front-only parking spots (of course, you could only see the “head-in parking only” sign if you were already going in head-first.  Fuck).

I guess it could've been worse

Dad and I went to the junkyard today to see if we could find a replacement rear window.  No luck, and they wouldn’t let us bring my camera in (fuckers!), but we snapped a couple cool shots with a phone anyway.  Take that, dirty commies!  I’m surprised by how fun it was going to this junkyard.  Those cars that were completely demolished were totally hypnotizing (see above picture).  I’ll have to go back and sneak in a legitimate camera.

We ended up buying a replacement rear window at a nearby junk shop (just $55!), and replaced it ourselves in my folks’ driveway.  And I finally remembered to drop off all that stuff at Goodwill!  Dinner tonight was ramen, strawberry mochi, olives and sweet red wine while watching a three-hour block of Daria.  Overall a really fun day.

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goodness, humor, work

Haiku surprise!

Remember this post when described how I discovered first-hand that all-day meetings do, in fact, exist?  I just found the haikus I wrote during the last meeting that day.  I’m pretty pleased with them:

I write haikus to
keep myself awake sometimes.
This is one of them.

I needed to demonstrate to my new coworkers that I was creative, playful, and overall the kind of person they’d look forward to working with.  I had told them about this haiku entertainment strategy, so I needed something to ease them into it.  After that it just snowballed into a poetic storm of sass and topical comedy. (names changed for the sake of my precious anonymity)

Hey, Elizabeth.
Guess what I’ll do after this.
That’s right: ICE CREAM, BITCH.

if only they were all this adorable

At UCC, the
kids can major in drinking.
Drinky, drinky, drink.

The issue at hand was obviously the kids drinking habits.  College kids.  And the parents are apparently appalled at the amount they’re drinking and how easily they can get a drink.  This discussion continued for about five minutes before I felt the need to point out that the best way to keep your kids from blacking out every Thursday night was to make them feel so good about themselves while sober that they didn’t feel the need to get drunk to feel good.  I pointed out that this was the responsibility of the parents.  The reception to that comment was… mixed.

I just feel so sharp
in my little white sweater
and silver bull studs.

I wore the most “professional” clothing I owned that day so I would represent the office well at all the meetings.  I looked like quite the little executive.

"we just want our kids to grow up into their own happy, well-balanced, totally terrifying adult basking sharks."

The power couple
could sell me a live gator,
and call it a purse.

The head of this parents group at the time was this married couple who had more energy and enthusiasm about this group in their left pinkie toe than I have in my entire body about most things.  They’re a tough act to follow, and hypnotizing to watch.  Like a shark attack.

The purple lady
is inconsolable.  Pull
yourself together.

I don’t recall what it was about, but it must have been great to warrant it’s very own commemorative haiku.  Wait, is a haiku commemorative if it’s written as something happens instead of afterwards?  Crap.

Basketball event
basket ideas: tattoos,
botox, lip piercing.

This basketball event required baskets of donations to raffle off and make some money for the parents group.  Wine, sweets and sports memorabilia were popular items.  Not very exciting.  The event went off without a hitch though, and everyone loved their baskets.  But seriously, imagine how fast the botox basket would have reached its top value.

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badness, humor, work

Haiku distraction: Spirit fingers edition

I was raised watching musicals.  I could sing along with every song in Oklahoma, Singin’ in the Rain, The Sound of Music, The King and I, Meet Me in St. Louis, Gigi, My Fair Lady… the list goes on, and I love them all.  Point proven.  Moving on.

now in eye-bleeding technicolor!

One of the events I’ve been planning for over a month went well today; a reception before a musical performance of On the Town by the university students.  Everyone seemed to enjoy it, and after intermission, the play finally seemed to hit its stride, but I wouldn’t see this play if it were performed by professionals.  Nothing about a jazzy, WWII era New York filled with sailors and sassy women belting out verse after verse about taxis and contemporary landmarks appeals to me, especially when they spend 80% of their time gazing appealingly over the heads of the audience as if to say, “Hey, what’s that?!  Oh never mind, it’s nothing… Hey, what’s that?!”

As I noted first in this, and then this post, getting caught at an event in which I’d rather not participate requires some kind of self-created entertainment/distraction.  Hence, the Bitter Haiku was born.

You’d think the dean of
theater would memorize
her introduction.

The dean of theater was basically reading from a prepared statement.  Of all the people in the university from whom I don’t expect this… it’s her.

Really?  Not even
one gesundheit?  In a full
theater?!  My word!

I sneezed during the dean’s intro, no one said a word.  Unbelievable.  I’m already annoyed.

The play opens with
film footage.  Seriously?
Ugh, bad idea.

Ok, who’s fuckin’ idea was this?  It’s a play, people.  That’s like opening a sculpture exhibit with a painting.  That’s like asking for a manicure, and getting a haircut.  That’s like paying for apples, and getting fuckin’ oranges.  They’re not the same thing.

Everyone is so
excited.  Maybe that’s why
they can’t hit a note.

Ask anyone in the dating world; first impressions are pretty important.  So when the play opens with a few solid minutes of film footage, then the three main actors deliver minutes of dull dialog, followed by butchering the main musical number… let’s just find the silver lining, and call it lots of material for Bitter Haikus.

really? I can climb it?!

The museum scene
was always gonna be the
best, naturally!

It’s the Museum of Natural History!  Of course it’s gonna be a good scene.  Who doesn’t love jokes about dinosaur skeletons?  This was the highlight of the production for me.

.

Ninety minutes in,
and I’ve smiled exactly twice.
Is it over yet?

This is a play about some nice guys falling in love with some hilarious women.  There are loads of opportunities for comedy and that “awww” moment.  The guy behind me was laughing his ass off, but I couldn’t find much reason to grin, let alone laugh.  I felt disappointed and left behind at the same time.

They bullfight with a
tablecloth, and stacked people
dance: plagiarism.

see it done here first, and properly

There were at least half a dozen very specific examples of choreography throughout the play that were basically stolen from Singin’ in the Rain.  Two of these examples were ripped straight out of the scene where Gene Kelley, Donald O’Connor, and Debbie Reynolds sing “Good Mornin” (in which two characters try to cheer up their glum friend), and were used in a scene in today’s production (in which two characters try to cheer up their glum friend).  The similarities are… depressing.

wait… it dances?

Don’t hire a male lead
who can dance!  When would he find
time to run around?

The one guy we spend the majority of the play following around spends the majority of his time looking confused, and speed-walking around the stage, trailing after extras with more purpose in one stride than the male lead had during the entire four-hour production.  When he finally broke into dance within the last twenty minutes of the play, I was shocked–shocked.  “Was he supposed to be dancing this whole time,” I thought, “or did they really hire him because of his amazing voice, despite his complete lack of dancing talent?”  Then I remembered: none of the other two male leads did any dancing at any point in the play.  None of them.  No wonder I was so much more impressed with the women.  They sang and danced, often at the same time (once while in a handstand), and still managed to hit every note.

If there was just one fewer dance number in which the cast coordinated pumping their dancing spirit fingers in the air to the beat of the live orchestra, I think I would have enjoyed it a little more.  At least I got paid.

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