Witz Pickz: 300th Post

This is my 300th post here on Witz Pickz. To be fair, it probably should have arrived sooner, but after the movie "300" came out, I had to delay the release of this pick to avoid any confusion:

"Want to see 300?"
"Wait, the movie or the witz pickz post??"

See. Chaos. So after some months, the 300th post has finally arrived, and it seems only appropriate after these last 299 posts that I am sick. After all, what is Witz Pickz if not a venue for me to passive-aggressively express my woes and cry for help? My immune system has been a top theme here, and so, in a way, I'm glad it has let me down one more time for this post.

There's some kind of mutant cold going around that people all over the country are coming down with. Here's how my mom was able to enlighten me:

MOM: Oh! You have that flu-cold!
ME: Flu-cold?
MOM: Yep-- it's like part flu part cold (part man-bear-pig).
ME: Hm-- my limited medical knowledge tells me that's impossible.
MOM: Nono, it's true-- it's like a flu that shows up as a cold.
ME: A flu that's actually a cold?
MOM: Or a cold that has flu symptoms.
ME: But those are two separate things. Wait, my cold has the flu?
MOM: I'm just telling you what I know! It's gonna get worse.
ME: Wow, thanks Mom.

Which is why I found myself in the waiting room of the doctor's office at 10am this morning, just in case I was about to enter the weekend without meds that I could have used.

I love my doctor's office because it is predominantly asian-- and when I say predominantly, I mean that I am the only white person in a sea of asians. If the waiting room were a can of mixed nuts it'd go, "peanut, peanut, peanut, cashew, almond, cashew, peanut, cashew, FILBERT???" I'm the Filbert. Nobody knows why I'm there or where I came from, and while they shouldn't be frightened of me, my shear size makes them wary. Having said that, it's kind of nice.

The waiting room is a little less depressing and a little more interesting. Why does that guy have a "Quarantine Matters" hat on? Oh well, he's prooobably not massively contagious. Just this morning, a woman next to me was talking on her cell phone loudly. She had cupped her hand around the phone and her mouth to theoretically mask the noise, but it ended up just making her sound like a megaphone-- and because she was speaking another language, she also ended up sounding EXACTLY like the phone voice in Charlie Brown. I like that I can't understand most of the conversations going on, and therefore, don't know what diseases are just around the corner, waiting for me to walk into their wake-- although I have learned that some cognates exist-- "japanese japanese japanese Bronchitis japanese japanese." I like how when the R.N. comes out to call me in, she has absolutely no idea how to pronounce my name. I like that she has to check my sheet to make sure I'm saying the same name she has written down. I like how she takes my blood pressure and weight, but then asks, "How tall?" and nods, impressed, when I say five-ten. "Yep, five-ten, I'm of complete average height."

I didn't expect much out of my visit this morning, and didn't get much. After a quick visit, the doctor informed me that I didn't have an ear infection, but I felt ok because I'd essentially paid 20 bucks to get my accurate weight and blood pressure taken, and to confirm that I wasn't sicker than I thought I was. Worth it. I briefly considered asking for some candy (after all, I'd thought I might have an EAR INFECTION, so since I'm apparently five years old, I might as well make a stab for some treats), but then remembered that I'd most likely get some kind of asian candy, which I'd already had some experience with. Here's how:

While working an event in Los Angeles, my friend Drea and I were given "Strawberry Pocky" as a thank you for helping a couple of Japanese women get registered for the event after the RSVP deadline. I'll save you the trip to the wikipedia and just tell you that Pocky was introduced in 1966 and was a hit amongst Japanese teenagers. It consists of biscuit sticks covered in chocolate and is named "pocky" because it is onomanopoetic for the sound pocky makes when you eat it (awesome). Strawberry Pocky was invented in 1977 (it took them ELEVEN YEARS to make that leap). SO, these women giving us pocky was like me giving someone malt balls as a thank you (Pocky briefly tried to sell their product in malt ball form under the name "Pock-Marks"-- the product was quickly removed from stores). The gift was appreciated, but I wasn't interested in more Japanese candy, this time from the doctor's office.

Which leaves me now, back home, sick, once again telling you about my immunal woes. When I told my boss that I was going to be out again today, she told me with motherly concern, "No partying this weekend!! We'll see you on Monday." I appreciate the sentiment, but this time around I don't think partying had anything to do with it. To the contrary, I wanted to reply that, "I'll also avoid standing out in the freezing cold for 3 hours driving old people in golf carts," which is the real culprit for catching this sucker, and is very much work related.

So here is my plight: My Netflix has left me in this state with only Zak and Miri Make A Porno, which I don't want to waste by watching alone, and Appaloosa, which is one of those movies that sounded like a good idea, RIGHT up until I got it in the mail. I'm out of snacks, but live in a goddamn forest, so I'm going to have to either take a drive to the store or start hunting rabbits (which I was good at in The Oregon Trail). Going out is only a problem insomuch as I haven't shaved in two days, look like late night with Joaquin Phoenix, and am hosting a game of Body Temperature Tag between Arctic Chills and Hot Savannah Nights. I'm also dressed suspiciously like Dexter's "killing suit," but that's not really the dealbreaker. So I'm house-bound. Either the cuddle-crazed cat or a misplaced midget has been pawing at my door for the last hour, so I don't see myself leaving anytime soon. I'm all out of House, Lost, and Entourage episodes to watch online. And I'm about ready to start rooting through the trash for that pocky.

So where am I after 300 posts? Not very far from where I was on post #1. Sure, I have a lot less shame and sure, we've had some good times. I'm PROBABLY more recognizably racist, and certainly lack some morals that we all thought I had. All the same, thanks for readin these last 300 (or the last 100 and then complaining that there aren't more posts for you to read even though you could go back and read the 200 that you missed out on the first time around), and if I survive this round of mutant flu that has a cold that's pregnant with anemia, I hope you stick around for more.

"I Liked the Movie Better,"
Witz

And now, here's a sketch based on in inexplicable scene I saw in which I have to assume two rapists discuss their van purchase:

LARRY: Frank, what the hell is this!
FRANK: What are you talkin' about, you told me to buy a rape van!
LARRY: Ohhh, no, no, no, no, no-- Frank, this is a Dodge Stratus!
FRANK: And?
LARRY: Are you kidding me? And this isn't a rape van!
FRANK: Well not YET it isn't!
LARRY: No, Frank, it never will be! EVERYONE knows that a rape van is a WHITE van with tinted windows. You bought us a-- a FAMILY van!
FRANK: What??
LARRY: Oh come on!
FRANK: I did not know that.
LARRY: Seriously??
FRANK: I did not know that.
LARRY: Great. Just great. What the hell do we do now-- we look like idiots.
FRANK: Well...At least we don't look like rapists!
LARRY: But we ARE rapists, Frank, we ARE rapists...
FRANK: Yeah...you're right.
LARRY: Now we just look like a gay couple struggling with the adoption process.

The hot new comedy, Frank N' Larry: Serial Offenders, coming soon on Fox.