Witz Pickz: 400th Post (State of the Union)

Happy Belated Halloween! Originally, M-Dash and I were going to go as witty physical puns of classic Ice Cream Treats, i.e. dressing up as a witch holding a bag of chips (Chipwich) and a traffic cone with a crown on (King Cone). After a series of blank stares convinced us otherwise, we decided to dress up as "People who don't know anyone having a Halloween Party."



Which brings me to today's post: my 400th post on Witz Pickz. I decided that I had to do something different for my 400th post, not just rant about how stupid babies are or tell some idiot story about how I get flu-like symptoms whenever I eat garlic. I decided I needed to do a State of the Union-- a brief round up of where we are after 400 posts:



• I've written 400 blog posts since March 26, 2006, and last I saw, earned $28.37 through Google AdWords, an amount I lauded as being, "Enough to purchase a pizza." When I recently checked again, I found that Google has seemingly erased all money earned and closed down the account. Google owes me a pizza.

• It is currently "Anytober," according to Subway, which is offering ANY Subway sub for five dollars in October. Unless Subway is pushing to nickname sandwiches "tobers," along with "hero," "grinder," "hoagie," and "sub," this is completely unacceptable. It's the laziest marketing since Jared got fat again and stopped doing Subway commercials.



• Herman Cain is a "legitimate" Republican Presidential Candidate. This is made worse by the fact that I couldn't decide whether to use his name in that joke or Michele Bachmann's.

• I've started drinking an inordinate number of smoothies.

• Not to brag, but my credit card says I have an "outstanding balance."

• I posted that last line as my Facebook status last week and got more "likes" and comments than on any of my blog posts. Ever.

• The Earth's population hit 7 billion and I hate everyone.

• I invested money in SodaStream-- a company which sells home carbonation kits so people can turn REGULAR WATER into SPARKLING WATER, a product which costs roughly eighty-nine cents to buy ANYWHERE...



• I would describe my smoothie intake as, "One per day."

• Mounds bars and Almond Joy bars cost exactly the same amount. This would lead me to believe that dark chocolate costs more to produce than milk chocolate by roughly the value of two almonds.

• Children in sweatshops are better at making shoes than I am at anything I'll ever try to do.

• I've started leaving the light off when I pee, just to add a little excitement to my days.

• I don't even drink seltzer. I think it's gross.

• Walmart brought back layaway. Either this is legitimate and sad or Walmart's been asked to secretly compile a, "People who should just kill themselves" list. If you can't afford to buy a shitty blender up front, you shouldn't be shopping in the first place.


(Even cute puppies are like, "WHAT ARE YOU THINKING!?")

• I make these smoothies myself, using a combination of frozen fruit, yogurt, almond milk, and my own tears.

• Don't let anyone say I never wrote a Mounds Bar joke.

• Ted Wilson Reviews the World is a thing that exists. It's at The Rumpus and it's awful. Just miserable. Like Witz Pickz, this guy reviews anything he can think of, only his schtick appears to be that he's intentionally uninformed and super not funny. It's made worse by the fact that his column's title doesn't include any kind of rhyme or consonance. While I wasn't a fan of The Malou Review, I was forced to respect the segment for its obvious end-rhyme driven premise. Malou had no choice but to get into reviews, kung-fu, or BBQ. This Ted guy should be pursuing meds, breads, or sheds. The final straw came when I posted a negative, but constructive comment on one of his reviews, and he moderated it into oblivion. This obviously means that Ted Wilson is my new sworn enemy, especially now that Andy Rooney has been defeated.

• I've started posting "negative, but constructive" comments on the internet...


(Andy Rooney looks like he chose the wrong chalice from the Temple of the Grail...This guy complains about pronunciation for 30 years and Steve Jobs dies at 56? "He chose poorly.")

I think that pretty much sums up where I'm at after 400 posts. Not yet rich and famous, but also not buying microwaves on layaway at Walmart. Ya win some, ya lose some. Strikes and gutters. The important thing is that you all are still reading, hopefully still laughing, and nobody's sued me yet.

And By "Not Yet Rich" I Mean I Literally Have Not Earned Any Money,
Witz

Witz Pickz: Like Cheers, but with a low-brow Sandwich Franchise...

I'm back from vacation and have some posts in the works for the coming week, but for today, here's a post I found from a few months back that I forgot to finish and put up:

3/11/10:
I've always wanted to be known at my local establishments, and today that dream came true, as I paid for my sandwich at a small sandwich shop down the street. Maybe you've heard of it, it's called Subway? Yep-- the Subway people know me. Not only do they know me, but they are psyched to see me, in a way that is borderline condescending-- like, they can't honestly be as excited to see me as they appear. Most of my friends aren't as excited to see me as these people appear. I mean, yes, I'm awesome at the ordering process: I know which bread, meat, cheese, veggies, and sauce I would like and I know what length sandwich I want the magic to happen on. That is still no reason for the enthusiasm I elicit from these people.



As far as I can tell, this store is owned by an Indian family-- the husband works the register, the two daughters work the sandwich line, and the wife alternates between various tasks, generally taking bread out of the oven and aggressively delivering streams of native language to or at her husband. As I've entered the store in the past, each one has at some time greeted me with a smile of recognition a genuine sounding greeting. When I stepped up to the counter last week, the wife smiled broadly and said "Hello, hello!" to which I replied, "Hi, how are you?" to which she replied, "Good!" to which I awkwardly replied, "I'd like a footlong turkey on wheat, please!" because there's really only so much a Sandwich Orderer/Sandwich Maker can talk about. I mean, I wasn't a dick about it-- I didn't say, "Well, I'll tell ya what, I'd be a lot better if you'd hurry up and slap a disturbingly thin layer of third-rate turkey on that bread and make me a G.D. sandwich!" but I still felt bad that I didn't have more to say to demonstrate my cordial nature.

Tonight took things to a whole new level. First, however, a quick detour, because the guy in front of me was too good to be true. A dead ringer for Mr. Magoo, he loudly began to order a six-inch turkey sub.



OLD MAN: Gimme the turkey sub-- the sixer on the oats!
GIRL: Ok.
OLD MAN: Ya know what, toast that first-- before ya put the stuffing on.
GIRL: Ok. What kind of cheese?
OLD MAN: THAT, miss, will be discussed after you toast my bread.
GIRL: Ok. (she toasts the bread)
OLD MAN: Good. Now. Cheddar.
GIRL: Ok.
OLD MAN: But BEFORE that, why don't you go ahead and put some of that chipolte* on there?
GIRL: The sauce?
OLD MAN: Yep, and put a lot on there.
GIRL: Ok. (pours a reasonable amount on the bread)
OLD MAN: Both sides...come on, don't be afraid, really get in there with it!

At this point, the girl pours an exhorbitant, laughable, cartoonish amount of chipotle southwest sauce onto the six inches of bread; at least a quarter to half inch thick layer of dressing. I let out a brief shock of laughter and quickly look away to avoid eye contact with the bemused girl or the deadly serious old man.

OLD MAN: That a girl! That's good, that's good. Ok, now the turkey. (The girl puts on a comically thin layer of turkey. I start to shake and my eyes fill with tears of contained laughter.) Good. Now-- ya know what? He'll help me with the rest of it. (The man gestures to the other guy behind the glass who is currently helping another customer.) He's a chef! He knows how I like it-- he does somethin' with it.

The girl stares at Mr. Magoo to see if he's serious. When it's clear that he is, she looks confused and slides the sandwich towards the other sandwich maker. While I order my sub, eyes red and teary as if I either find the plight of sandwiches unbearable or the art of the sub incredibly beautiful (both of which are true), I keep an eye on Mr. Magoo's meal. "The Chef" looks at the sub, puts on two pieces of cheese, lettuce, tomato, onions, and THAT'S IT.

OLD MAN: Just how I like it!

The old man pays and leaves, unfathomably content, and I can only hope that the world is so magical and...specifically pleasing when I am his age. I hope that happiness is just a fuckload of chipotle sauce and a pathological misconception of what constitutes quality.



This is when things get weird. As I step up to the register, the husband gives me a genuinely pleased smile and asks, "Hello, my friend!"

"Hi," I reply, "How are you?"
"Good, very good. How have you been?"
"Good," I reply, followed by the brilliant, "Yeah, I...haven't been in here in a while." Conversational. Wizard.
"Yes, yes..." he responds, still staring at me and smiling. I take this opportunity to take the conversation in a new, but familiar direction.
"I got a footlong turkey..."
"Excellent!" He rings me up, and just as I'm saying thank you and leaving something entirely different happens.
"Take care, my friend!" the man says, and EXTENDS HIS HAND TO ME. I reach out and shake it, completing our transaction...our conversation...our...hangout? It was unorthodox, to say the least, which might be a sad commentary on our society, but it was also oddly comforting. Shaking a stranger's hand, warm with heat and kindness, somehow made the entire world seem like a happier place. Also, I think I might be married to one of his daughters now, it's unclear, but that'd be great because I could really use some a that Subway money.

Subway: When You're Here, You're Family...and Clearly Broke,
Witz


*spelled phonetically-- does anyone know how to properly pronounce chipotle? I keep hearing people say "chiPOLEtay" and I want them to be wrong. It's one of the reasons I'm going to die before my time...

BONUS MATERIAL: I should also add this: Older Indian Women LOVE me. While in Palo Alto, I entered my (mom's recipe) Death By Chocolate Trifle in my apartment building's dessert contest and won (obviously; some people entered brownies, some people entered pudding or candy. The trife is brownies AND pudding AND toffee AND whipped cream. It's essentially the Grilled Cheese DoubleMelt of desserts). Afterward, several people came up to me to say how good it was, including a quite elderly looking Indian woman who took my hands, shook her head, and, her eyes brimming on tears, simply said, "So good. So good." So...I might have two Indian brides now, it's all very confusing.

Witz Pickz: Drive-By-Numbers -- Day One (SF to Santa Monica)

It's official-- I've left San Francisco to drive across the country to the land of pizza, bagels, and more than likely, a combination of the two: New York City. Since I felt like making things interesting and instinctually foresaw a Donner Party death if I passed through the rockies, I decided to take a bit of a different route, which I have been referring to as the "Wrong Way, Asshole" route. Other people might call it the southern route, which is why I write this today from a cafe in San Diego after spending last night in Santa Monica, or as I call it, "The Place Where I Should Stop My Road Trop Because It's Beautiful and Fun and There's NO FUCKING WINTER EVER." Here are some stats from the first day:

Day One: SF to Santa Monica

Number of Driver's Licenses: 0
Because Life hates me (certainly not because I'm irresponsible) and because there wasn't a 100% chance that I am going to die nameless, in a ditch, on fire in West Texas (more on that later), I managed to lose my driver's license Saturday night, which was great, because it was pretty much the ONLY THING I COULDN'T AFFORD TO LOSE. Like, my car would be slightly worse, but otherwise, the thing that legally allows me to drive 3500 miles across the country the day before I am leaving to do so is number one on the list.* So, the trip already has an extra element of danger, which as we all know, only improves the plot.

Miles Driven: 385

Number of Songs on my iPod: 7155
Number of Songs I Listened To on Random Shuffle: 132
Number of Everclear Songs on My iPod: 12
Number of Everclear Songs Played on Random Shuffle: THREE. My iPod effing LOVES Everclear. Sure, they have a bunch of hits on that one album, but holy crap. I have 60 Blink-182 songs and I didn't hear a single one, but Father of Mine popped up only eight songs apart from Everything to Everyone? But you know what? It was awesome!

Number of Subway Sandwiches Eaten: 1
Number of Subway Female Bathroom Attendants That Don't Speak English Who Stayed In the Bathroom While I Peed at a Urinal: 1 -- That's a 1:1 ratio so far! I did everything in my communicative power to demonstrate my intentions and get the girl to leave for a minute, but she just smiled, nodded, said, "Ok," and pointed towards the urinals! Very few things are more awkward than standing at a urinal, with a subway bag around your wrist, a backpack on your back, and a Subway bathroom girl listening a few feet away-- but by deftly managing to not pee on my lunch and on account of the girl not leaving, this did prove my lifelong belief that I am spectacular at peeing and people both know and want to witness this fact. Either that or the girl was shocked and appalled when I actually peed with her there. I didn't stick around for a reaction.

Number of All-You-Can-Eat Sliders Consumed: 8 -- For dinner, my friend Peterageous and I found an amazing infinite sliders for 5 dollars bar. I know, I know, I should have done better, but coupled with the 2 for 1 beers, Peterageous and I went toe to toe on eight chicken sliders and called it a night. We probably would have done better if we hadn't also eaten rice that came with it and apparently was created by someone who once thought, "You know, rice is great, but you know what I wish I was eating at the EXACT same time? STRING BEANS."

That about sums up (heheh, that's, like, a road trip blog format math pun) the trip to Santa Monica. I'm sure in future posts I'll be accruing more things like, "Strands of H1N1," but for now, things are going alright.

Ya Know What Was A Stretch? Making People Spell "I Cup"...,
Witz


*This is obviously excluding necessary body parts. In this case, however, I'm referring to lost property, and although it would be both amusing and harrowing to call someone and say, "Dude, you're not gonna believe what I lost last night-- MY LEGS!" it's neither socially acceptable, nor remotely the appropriate way of spreading the news...so driver's license wins.