Witz Pickz: A Day of Errands and Awkwardness (or as I call it...Tuesday)

Well, my brain's getting dumber. I was checking out at Trader Joe's, and had "How's it going?" all queued up and ready to go when the guy at the register beats me to the punch with a, "How's it going?" of his own. So that of course set my brain on this joyous little mobius loop:

"How's it-- good-- How are going-- good it's-- how's are-- it's you-- going how-- how's it good-- how are going--...HOW ARE GOING? HOW ARE GOING??"

You know when you and someone else step in the same direction and then both correct and go the other way and then both correct and go the other way, etc, etc, until you both laugh awkwardly and admit that God hates people?* Well, it was like that, but my brain was playing both roles.

After babbling and then mumbling for more seconds than people find comfortable, I smiled and swiped my credit card. I knew that before the transaction was complete, I needed to prove I'm not a complete insane person, so I struck up conversation by inquiring,

"So is the Nutty American Trek Mix gone forever?"
"The American Trek Mix?"
"Nutty American...it's the best trek mix." There. Now I'm just a person who's way into trek mixes.
"Uhh, I dunno. Cathy, Nutty American Trek Mix?" Cathy worked her magic on the computer and then reported,
"Discontinued."

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, I repeated to myself. "Ah, that sucks man," but what I wanted to say was, "THAT IS FUCKED! HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? THE NUTTY AMERICAN TREK MIX IS THE SAME AS THE "Just Almonds, Cashews, and Cranberries" MIX ONLY THEY HAVE RAISINS INSTEAD OF CRANBERRIES AND DELICIOUS DELICIOUS CHOCOLATE CHUNKS!" I didn't see Cathy or My Register Guy making those kind of executive decisions, however, so I walked away.

Don't worry though, this wasn't the most awkward exchange of the day for me. Earlier, I was in Safeway, next in line at checkout, when I looked out into the indoor plaza and saw a guy with binoculars just staring into the store. I looked at him with a baffled expression on my face for a prolonged period of time, wondering what the hell was going on. The guy in front of me caught my expression and gave me a somewhat annoyed look back. "Oh sorry," I said, "That look wasn't for you-- there's a guy over there staring into the store with a pair of binoculars. Easily the creepiest thing I've seen all day," I informed him, but accidentally in such a way that implied I saw plenty of creepy things in my day. The man then turned to where I was looking, by which point (OF COURSE) the guy had put down the binoculars. The guy in front of me in line then looked back at me with a doubtful expression AND something else on his face. It was at this point that I realized this man had a huge awkward birthmark on the right side of his face (the side that had been facing away from me)**. I'm sure Birthmark Guy has dealt with this a lot in his life and I bet my "Creepy Binoculars Guy" expression looked a lot like a "What the Fuck Do You Have On Your Face" expression. Sometimes words only make things worse, and for one of the few times in my life, I made the decision simply not to say anything.

Here's the kicker. After I checked out and long after the guy in front of me had left, I wandered over to where I had seen the guy with the binoculars-- and do you know what I saw? A store named, "Scope City" with a large sign stating, "Telescopes, Microscopes, Binoculars!" WHAT??? HOW...IN THE HELLLLL...does a store selling telescopes, microscopes, and binoculars stay open with this economy?? Circuit City went under. Borders is shutting down. But somehow, Scope City is riding this one out? I don't care if they don't have major competitors-- who are the people spending money on making small things look bigger right now?? "Let's see, mortgage? Nah. Car payments? Nope. I want that far away star to look less far away!" or is it more like, "I can't afford to travel anymore, so I'll make things look closer!" or is everybody just opening up private investigator firms? I hope it's that last one. If movies and tv are any indication, everybody will start conversing with a whole lot more quips and snappy dialogue.

Is That An Absurdly Unfortunate Birthmark On Your Face or Are You Just Happy to See Me?,
Witz


*I actually had a fun one of these dances down in LA where I turned around and found a tall guy in a nice suit right behind me. We did the back and forth dance precariously off balance until I solved the situation by falling right at him and giving the man a BEAR HUG. It was so awkward afterward that I felt like I should have picked his pockets during the exchange just so we both felt a little more comfortable with what had transpired.

**Vaguely related, E-Funk All-Star and I were discussing face tattoos last night and the idea of getting a life sized face tattoo of SOMEONE ELSE'S FACE. After thinking about it, neither one of us were able to conceive what it would look like, and we realized the idea is actually very zen. I also like the conversation I assume would have to take place between myself and the tattoo artist: "What aren't you understanding here? You see her face? I want a tattoo of that. On my face. Life-sized."

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Television Your DVR Would Refuse

The local news has lost its goddamn mind. Don't get me wrong, it's always been bad, but the news I've seen in the last couple weeks has been stunning. Even Lenny's like, "This isn't news, George!"

While watching the news back home in Connecticut, they warmed us up with this little tragedy: Bally Total Fitness gym closing in Hamden! BOOM! Write your local congressman. Not ALL the gyms, just this one club. Now, I know what you're thinking and YES, their memberships will be accepted at other Bally Total Fitness clubs, but NO, there is not a convenient location nearby.



Once they had us on the edge of seats, terrified of what mild inconvenience could next beset us, they dropped this doozie on the viewers: It's rainy outside. Furthermore, it HAS BEEN rainy recently. It's important to note this wasn't part of the weather report, but the actual NEWS. And it was part of the news because this rain led to things like The Strawberry Festival being moved inside.

"Do you think the change of location will hurt the festival?"
"Probably."
"What will happen if that is the case?"
"We will have a lot of leftover strawberries..."

Jesus.

The weather also led to people walking in the rain, as they so diligently showed us footage of not one, but three separate people walking hurriedly and without joy. One woman took a moment longer in the rain to inform the news that, "I was going to take my kids to the pool, but I guess we'll have to go shopping or something." A woman lost in this world. Another woman, though not an expert alleged that, "There are only so many days in the summer, and this rain has been going on for too long." The somber reporter needed add no more to the story. Instead, she simply declared, "From the Buckland Hills Mall in Manchester, I'm Useless."

At the gym yesterday, I found that it's no longer just the local news bringing us the hard hitting stories. CNN couldn't help but tell me that, "Scary Giant Squids Off the Coast of California!" Listen CNN, why don't you go ahead and tell me that there are giant squids nearby, and I'll go ahead and decide to be scared or not. I bet Anderson Cooper wouldn't think they're scary. I bet Anderson Cooper would have given that story the headline, "Giant Squid Not As Badass As Anderson Cooper." Just because Wolf Blitzer's scared of giant squids doesn't mean I'm not going swimming. I'm scared of spiders, but I wouldn't tell people, "Scary Barely Distinguishable Petite Spider On Wall In Bathroom!" Just gimme the facts, I promise we don't have the same opinions.

It's not just the news, and it's not even just the shows (which we won't get into right now). Let's talk about this "Orphan" movie. I wrote a while back that you shouldn't make certain things scary. You shouldn't make Christmas scary. It's unnecessary to make Mist scary. I'm thinkin' orphans probably fall in that category as well. Who thought, "You know who doesn't have it bad enough? ORPHANS!" and went ahead to write a horror movie where an orphan child joins a family and then kills stuff? I'm sure orphans have a hard enough time getting adopted without unnecessary fear being instilled in our culture (also, when I first started writing this, I had no problem writing "orphan," but now that I'm writing it a lot, it sounds like it might be a derogatory word. "Familialy Deficient?" "Soloists?" Is there a better word or is this not a thing?)

As it turns out, other people share this thought process. Also on CNN the other day, I saw that a group of activists are "FURIOUS" over the film and what it could mean for the Oliver Twists. While my initial thought process is, "Don't make orphans scary," I was suddenly against this group making a huge deal out of the movie. It just suddenly occurred to me that the people going to see "Orphan" proooobably aren't the same people looking to adopt. AND, even if they were looking to adopt, they probably shouldn't be adopting a child, kitten, or highway, if they were scared off by a horror movie. "You know, honey, I was all for adopting, but did you see what that fictional child did? She pretended to be an orphan and then killed people! What if they happens to us? Anyway, something to think about while we drive within 5 miles of our home."

TV Might Be Dumb, But I'm Still the Idiot Watching,
Witz

Photo courtesy of Nitro

Witz Pickz: The Neverending Hilarity of Life

The other day, my friend, Dani Law, asked me how I'm able to write about funny things when I'm depressed. I told her that it's easy because regardless of how I'm feeling, there is always hilarious stuff going on around us. I haven't felt very funny the last few weeks, but the world has been too ridiculous for me to ignore any more, so I'll try to play catch up:

Michael Jackson Died:
Did you guys hear about this? I understand that the man wrote some hit songs and is a musical legend, but the operative word there is WROTE. People are acting like he had another musical contribution up his sleeve, but all he had up his sleeve was candy and the keys to a white van with tinted windows. Plus, the man was BATSHIT CRAZY. On one of the millions of bios they showed after his death, Jackson claims that God turned his skin white and that, "People call us colored because we come in so many different colors."
....
....
I promise you that's not why people call you colored. Although I do think that's a great opening for a lot of racists to get off the hook: "Uh, yeah, that's toootally all I meant...I was celebrating diversity!"

Ironically, (if people are at all like me...which I guess they probably aren't...and I'll cite the "being frightened by my own back hair" story in this case...) by "memorializing" Michael Jackson's death on tv and the radio and in clubs and at concerts, people are probably going to get sick of him and move on faster.

Speaking of saying one thing and meaning another,check out this Domino's commercial:




I love how Memphis manages to come off as an extremely racist douchebag within .5 seconds simply by arguing about pizza. "David Ortiz" aka Cali Chicken is all, "Ours is better" and Memphis BBQ is all, "No, ours is better," and then Cali Chicken is all, "No, ours is better," and then Memphis is all, "How about we put some south in your mouth!?" and then everyone watching is like, "WHOOOOOOOOAH WHAT??"

How about we put some SOUTH? In your MOUTH? Who let that through the censors? Is that what people say in Memphis? Like, is that a normal thing to say to someone? "Hey Bill, good seeing you and the wife at the hardware store today. How about this weekend you come by and we'll put some south in your mouth?" It sounds a lot more like when two people are arguing and things escalate and then someone drops the N-bomb or the J-bomb or the F2-bomb (not the f-bomb, but the one for guys who like guys) and everyone listening does their best Sopranos impression to let them know they've crossed the line.

And what's with Domino's trying to start eight different kinds of riots? At the beginning of the commercial, the people in the background are like, "We playfully debate your crazy pizzas!" and by the end they're ready to knife each other and drink their victim's blood to wash down the pizzas that they have never even tried before, but now defend through a false sense of regionalism. Domino's Race Riot Pizzas. The advertising makes me NOT want to get involved. I don't even vote in local elections most of the time, I'm not ready to support an overaggressive regional pizza.

This isn't the first time tempers have flared up in the summer. Something about the heat gets people a little crazy and that's when things like this Domino's feud get out of hand. Fortunately for you Islamic women, you can finally cool off in the pool without having to shed all those clothes that keep you at a totally comfortable temperature in the sun! Introducing...THE BURQINI!



It's just like that song, "She wore a teenie weenie, itsy bitsy, navy full body burqini..."

After reading a number of testimonials, it sounds like they've allowed much wanted freedom for hundreds of muslim women, and the joy the women expressed makes me happy the product exists. Here's my favorite testimonial:

"My Summer? It went swimmingly!...Here I am to the right in my superhero pose. It was a running joke this summer; when I slipped on my modest swimsuit, I turned into super-mommy. I could do anything! You see that lake behind me? I swam in it all day comfortably! And I didn't get sympathy looks from bystanders. I got compliments one kind, older lady even asked me where I got my suit and I had to spell out the name a few times: A-h-i-i-d-a. She was a very pale woman who wanted a suit to protect her skin from sunburn." (Gulsen A.)

I guess I just love the idea that an old white lady is going to buy a burqini and swim around in it, more than likely oblivious to the original purpose of its creation.



I can only imagine the possibilities this might lead to...


"These are the most comfortable pajamas ever!"

I Could Really Go For Some East In My Teeth...What? That's A Very Common East Coast Pizza-centric Expression...,
Witz

Photos Courtesy of Nitro

Witz Pickz: The Road to Hell...Is Paved With Well-Intentioned Blog Posts*

I have a new favorite town and it's in New Jersey. Nope-- not Atlantic City. Cheesequake, New Jersey. In case it's not obvious, here's why:

1) It sounds like the cutest kid in the world telling someone what they want for dessert.

2) It sounds like the most delicious natural disaster possible. "Sorry, I'm going to be late, I got caught in a cheesequake on the way home! Don't wait for me to eat-- I'm full now."

3) It sounds like what they would name a rollercoaster in Wisconsin.

4) It sounds like a good way to sum up my eating habits and physical form when I was in Paris. I ate pounds of brie, camembert, and chevre in a nine day span. "Whew, that guy looks like he went on a cheesequake if I've ever seen one."

On the way to New Jersey, I was able to enjoy the severe awkwardness of a New Jersey gas station. They don't allow people in Jersey to pump their own gas because apparently the state of New Jersey trusts its residents with gasoline about as much as I trust a Flock of Retarded Asians to mail my Netflix movies. Since I only get gas in NJ during long car trips, I inevitably get out of the car to stretch my legs and am told that I'm not allowed to pump my own gas. I then have to tell the attendant that I know, but I wanted to stretch my legs, which then leads to me standing awkwardly by the attendant who is pumping my gas while I do overly flagrant calisthenics and yogic maneuvers to prove that I needed to stretch and did not simply think I could pump my own gas. Because then I might look stupid. Another subtle, but affective bitch slap courtesy of Life.


(This wasn't the most relevant gas pumping photo I could find, but it's a fairly convincing argument in favor of letting people pump their own gas...probably while drunk driving)

While on the train from NYC to CT today, I enjoyed the dulcet tones of a middle-aged hispanic woman YELLING INTO HER PHONE FOR NINETY-MINUTES STRAIGHT! She sat down directly behind me on the train because I attract crazies the way Denny's attracts budweiser hats. In fact, this was the second time in two days that luck had placed the gems of humanity in the seat behind me. While going to see Year One**, with the theater half-empty, Two Girls Who Are American And Who's Ancestors Might Have Come From Africa sat down behind us and put in a solid ninety-minutes of fulfilling preconceived notions and stereotypes. Oh, and guess what, white people? Teenage black girls are saying "tight," which is totally baffling because I thought "tight" was a word that white people already stole from black people, like, ten years ago! Did they steal it BACK*** or is this like how 80's music is making a comeback?? God, I can't wait to say "butter" again.

ANYWAY! This lady was on the train behind me, yelling in spanish into her phone, which was jarring, because spanish is a beautiful language that can rhythmically lull me to sleep, especially if I'm on a train, but YELLING in spanish can sound a whole lot like angry bees-- and this wasn't just yelling-- it was yelling at speed. The whole thing made me feel like I was in an SAT question: If Esperanza is on a train going 60mph and is talking on the phone at 80mph in the opposite direction, how fast are her words moving?? The answer is, "It doesn't matter because white guys in polo shirts don't get to turn around and tell perturbed elderly women that 'You're at an 8...and I really need you at about a 2, ok?'" Checkmate.



A large part of me (insert penis joke here...yes, that was a way for me to make a penis joke without ACTUALLY lowering myself to making a penis joke) wanted to take out my cell phone and start yelling at full volume about inane things:

"HI MOM IT'S ME AND YES I DO WANT TRISCUITS AND CHEESE WHEN I GET HOME, BUT IF YOU BUY THEM AT THE SUPERMARKET BUY THE SMALLER BOX NOT THE FAMILY SIZE BECAUSE A) EVEN IF YOU BUY THE FAMILY SIZE YOU AIN'T GETTIN' ANY AND B) FOR SOME REASON THE SMALLER BOX TASTES BETTER AND THE FAMILY SIZE TENDS TO TASTE OVERWHELMINGLY LIKE THEIR RETARDED COUSIN AT TRADER JOE'S, 'WOVEN WHEATS.' I DON'T KNOW HOW I KNOW, BUT I KNOW AND THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT HAUNT ME AT NIGHT-- THESE ARE THE TYPES OF PROBLEMS I'M DEALING WITH THESE DAYS. I GOTTA GO, I THINK I'M ABOUT TO GET MY ASS KICKED." (that was the first time in my life I utilized caps lock)

So, much like Charlie Chaplin or the thousands of Germans who were around in 1942 and recently got all worked up when Tom Cruise made the movie Valkyrie, I said nothing.

If Witz's Train To Hell Is Travelling At 70mph, and Witz Types at 90wpm, How Many More Posts Can You Realistically Expect Before He Is Smitten (Not In the Good Way), Assuming the Existence of a Reasonable God?,
Witz

*Anyone else getting the "Victims of Sexual Abuse" ad on the page? I wonder which one of my posts queued up that downer...also it says, "Justice for Victims of Child Abuse, Molestation In Delaware." How incredibly specific, Google Ads! "Justice...yes!...for Victims of Child Abuse...go on!...Molestation...good!..in-- Delaware? Shit. This link is useless to me."

**Judd Apatow's "Gigli"-- Michael Cera was mildly amusing, but the two tween girls walking out in front of me summed it up best with this exchange: "This was your fault. You made me see Year One. Those are two hours I will never have back," the first girl declared. "I am so sorry," came the reply. I left during the credit sequence outtakes-- and I'm a sucker for outtakes. In other news, Kung Fu Panda was the shit.

***I could make a mean "Charter Oak" joke here for all you Connecticut folks out there, but I'll restrain myself. Just know that it was possible.

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Connecticut Credentials

I've been in Connecticut for the last couple of weeks, I grew up here for twenty-two years, and I've driven Subaru station wagons since I was sixteen years old, but it was at exactly 3:57 p.m. this afternoon that I was officially invited to be a member of this state. J. Crew emailed me today and invited me to their "PRIVATE SALE" with the additional subject of "(it's super top-secret)."** Apparently, the only Connecticut credentials I had been lacking were the two polo shirts that I bought last week. Now that my wardrobe is fully stocked with poppable collars, I'm ready for membership.

First of all, really? Is it "super top-secret?" because you sent it to my google mail account and I, for one, don't feel I've earned your trust. I wanna meet the person who says, "Well fuck me, I better see what's inside this email!" What's inside the email is this: "Shhhhhhhh" reads the first line-- "PRIVATE SALE." I'm sorry, but did you just email shush me? Did I sign some sort of non-disclosure agreement when I signed for my credit card? (This actually gives me a great idea-- next time you buy something with your credit card and they ask you to "please sign here," say, "Sorry, I'm going to need a minute to look this over before I sign anything," and then make a series of, "Mm-hm," sounds before you finally announce, "Well, this agreement appears adequate," and sign the receipt.) Am I really supposed to be wooed by the promise of this "private" sale? Who's the douchebag who DOESN'T tell their friends about it??

Friend: Hey Witz, what's this I hear about a sale at J. Crew online?
Witz: ...I don't know what you're talking about...

When I asked E-Funk All-Star (also an invitee because she boats) who the email was marketed towards she replied, "Everyone that has an email address." Touche, but if that's the case, then I have to assume J. Crew thinks we're all huge gossips who can't keep a secret, because THEY'RE A BUSINESS and they want AS MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE TO BUY THEIR PRODUCT. I would be mildly offended by this, but I quickly realized the coupon was not meant for me:

"Enjoy 20% off purchases of $175 or more."

Oh, poor, misled J. Crew-- I don't have $175 to spend on your clothes! I looked in the Sunday paper for coupons to get a coffee coolatta for less than the regular price of $1.99. "If I'm paying 2 dollars, I better be getting a free donut or something!" That's the kind of enjoyment I'm looking for-- cheap and caloric.

I do hope other companies start this kind of marketing, but with a little bit more intensity. I want to get invited to the "Shut the Fuck Up About It" sale at Sports Authority and the "Don't Invite Your Weird Friend Brian-- That Kid Sucks" sale at Banana Republic.

So, unfortunately, it looks like I won't be joining the handpicked elite of Connecticut any time soon, but that's ok, because I live in San Francisco and am only four burritos away from the five-thousand required on my proof of residency card. And that's good enough for me right now.

The Secret Code Is "SECRET" By the Way...Because They Respect Us That Little,
Witz


**They even used that extraneous hyphen to lure me in. Speaking of hyphens, I learned recently that someone my friend knows is named Ladasha...only it's spelled "La-a" (guess if she's white or not). Aside from the fact that the girl is going to be called "La ah," her entire life, wouldn't it actually be "Lahyphena?" Obviously I'm excited for the possibilities this opens up. "This is my daughter Kate; spelled like it sounds-- with an 8." "Please meet my slutty daughter Tr&." Endless possibilities-- I predict a celebrity utilizes this for their child within the next 10 months.

Witz Pickz: Laughing Matters and Knäckebrödsdansen

I got flown by NWA. That's the coolest I'm ever gonna sound-- unfortunately, I wasn't assaulted by an iconic hip hop group, I just flew back to Connecticut on Northwest Airlines...though I was hit by the drink cart once by a flight attendant who looked kinda black.

While on board, I made the mistake of trying to pass the time by listening to Mike Birbiglia's stand up album "Two Drink Mike." I figured I'd already heard most of his jokes, so I wouldn't laugh, which I think says something about me, because who listens to a comedy album they DON'T expect to laugh at? As it turns out, there were a bunch of jokes I hadn't heard and ended up laughing hysterically, which was enjoyable for me as well as all kinds of uncomfortable for the older woman in the seat next to me at fifty-thousand feet. As I sat there laughing and shaking, I had to keep looking at my iPod just to demonstrate for people that I wasn't completely insane. "Oh, iPod! You're hilarious!" The whole thing was made more awkward by the fact that they were showing a documentary about like, saving villages in Africa, so my audible laughter almost definitely appeared to be directed at impoverished African villagers and their culture. Wonderful.

The plane laughter got me thinking about a conversation I had the other day with E-Funk All-Star. We somehow ended up talking about different kinds of laughter and giggling came up. There is a very small window for appropriate giggling and this became abundantly clear on my flight. Too little giggling and you're an emotionless sack of sad that's incapable of expressing excited or surprised enjoyment, and too much giggling and you're absolutely insane. In my world, giggling generally occurs when you try and hold in laughter, so there was probably some plane giggling and, let's be honest, there's been some giggling at the gym, which is awesome, because no matter how much weight you're benching, the moment you GIGGLE, your gym cred is gone.

The other kind of "surprise laughter" is the guffaw. The guffaw is rarely implemented, but when it is, look out. There is a very thin line between "a guffaw" and "throwing up."

Witz: I'm so tired of hearing those models say, "I was just trying to guffaw and..."
E-Funk All-Star: My friend is so funny that I lost 15 pounds!

How awesome would it be if weight was indicative of humor? I'd walk around with a really skinny girl all the time and people would whisper, "Wow, he must be SO funny!" Suddenly, people would be staging interventions for rail thin guys: "Tommy, we know you like it there, but you can't be going down to the comedy clubs every night. You're going to die." Almanacs would come out with facts like, "World's Funniest Nations As Evidenced By Weight," which would suddenly make Ethiopia the funniest country on the planet.

Anyway, here's something E-Funk All-Star introduced me to that you can giggle at: naket knäckebröd dansen. Apparently, the Swedish language consists almost entirely of cognates and poser cognates (words that dress and act like they're cognates, but aren't), but I will translate for you. "Naket" means naked. "Dansen" means dancing. "Brod" means bread. Knacke means FUCKING INSAAAAANE. Check it out:



ABBA: No Longer Sweden's Gayest Export. These guys are like the Swedish Red Hot Chili Peppers (Röd Het Chilli Peppars). As you might have guessed, knackebrod is actually large pieces of crispy circular bread with a whole in the middle-- or, as us Jews call them, bagel chips*. While most people see bagel chips and think, "I'm going to eat these with a sandwich," these guys saw bagel chips and thought, "I bet that would cover my dick." They then followed that thought up with,

"Let's all dance naket together on national television."
"Can there be a part where we all look like we're banging each other?"
"Almost exclusively."
"Sold. Girls are gonna love this!"

If these guys didn't go to boarding school, I don't know who did. If you missed the one guy losing his knackebrod (which sounds like a euphamism), go back and watch again, it's pretty amusing. As for me, now that I'm home, I'm gonna go raid the cupboard and get my "Ritz Crackerbrodsdansen" on.

Dansen Maskin,
Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Involuntary Bulimia and Shaking Like A Polaroid Picture

Tuesday's post was described by some of my readers as "Confusing," by others as, "not your best," and by one avid fan as, "Awful." I admit that my Memorial Day post was weak at best, but rather than take full responsibility for choosing to write about a story where I DON'T get pulled over by the police, I'd like to defer some blame to my stomach. You see, my stomach must have thought it needed to squeeze into a dress for the prom, because starting at 9am Tuesday, I became the world's most dedicated involuntary bulimic.

The problem with waking up and feeling sick in your stomach is that you don't know if you're sick or just hungry. So you start talking to it like it's a small child and feed it things in the hopes of feeling better:

WITZ: Do you like cereal? (eat cereal)
STOMACH: No, go away.
WITZ: Do you like toast and peanut butter?
STOMACH: I said no, stop it.
WITZ: Do you like Triscuits and cheese?
STOMACH: I will kill you.
WITZ: Do you like Lemon-Lime Gatorade?
STOMACH: That's it, let's do this thing.

Ya ever simultaneously throw up and feel like you pulled multiple chest and back muscles from doing so? I'm like the David Copperfield of poor health. Also, when people say Jesus is inside each and every one of us, do they mean he's in our stomachs performing miracles? Because how else am I able to eat THREE triscuits and moments later have what must be an entire box of woven grains powering back out the old mouth hatch? Chanukkah Part 2.

At night, my stomach decided to take a break and gave my body the opportunity to play a game called, "Let's Pretend You Just Quit Heroin Cold Turkey." If you want a quick way to workout your back and abs, but can't afford that little electric belt thing, just try to SHIVER UNCONTROLLABLY for a while. My friends Nitro and Diep Dish came by to drop off Gatorade ("So naturally, we called it Gator-Ade." Two things: 1) I guarantee a sick Jew huddled around a toilet shivering was not the initial target demographic of Gatorade and 2) Then why didn't you name it "Gator-AID??" I guess to be fair, they probably dodged a bullet given that once AIDS got huge, it would be more than a little awkward to ask a buddy to get some "Gator-AIDS" if he has the chance. The real winner though is Powerade. Nobody wants to get "Poweraids.") and as I left my bed to meet them, dressed from head to toe in gray sweat-gear (special thanks to K-Mitch for the sweatshirt that is extremely comfortable and will now haunt my memories), I felt as though I had just jumped naked into a snowbank. We tried to make conversation, but it was probably clear I wasn't up for it, and here's why: You know in movies when someone is touched by a ghost and suddenly gets really really cold? THAT'S HOW I FELT ALL THE TIME. Nobody wants to be the last person to see you before you die, so the two hurried along and I hustled back into bed.

My body then began repeating the same question in a less than subtle manner. It asked me, in very clear and precise terms, if I would rather live in THE ARCTIC CIRCLE...or...THE SAHARA DESERT?? Which one, Witz? ARCTIC? SAHARA? ARCTIC? SAHARA? My answer, incidentally, is The Arctic Circle. You can only get so naked before you're just a sweaty naked guy with no more options, but you can always throw on another baby seal coat. Anyway, there's only so much a guy can take before he calls him Mom to blame her for everything.

RING RING

Witz's Mom: Hello?
Witz: Remember yesterday when you asked if I was feeling OK, and I said yes, I actually haven't been sick in a while?
Witz's Mom: Yeah?
Witz: Way to jinx it. I have a fever and my stomach is putting the Bellagio Fountain to shame.
Witz's Mom: Oh no! Well, you probably have swine flu.
Witz: What!?
Witz's Mom: I told you you'd get swine flu!
Witz: You TOLD me?? I'm not even Mexican!
Witz's Mom: Yep. (pause) I bet you didn't shower with salt did you?
Witz: No, I didn't shower with salt! Why were you jinxing me with swine flu?? Haven't you read The Secret???
Witz's Mom: If you'd used salt like I told you...
Witz: Right. This is my fault. Because I didn't bring a shaker of Morton's into the tub with me.
Witz's Mom: I'm just saying.

CLICK

When your own mom assumes you're going to get swine flu it's time to re-evaluate your life. I pounded some Nyquil and waited for sleep to have its way with me. Since my body was already taken care of, sleep decided to destroy me mentally. Throughout the night, I had no fewer than three major stressful things in my life resolve themselves positively. What a nice, nice, relaxing sleep. THEN I WOKE UP. Boom. How's reality, motherfucker? Woot. Shattered. As my brain and body high fived, and I leaned into the business end of a Safeway Paper Bag*, I had one single thought that gave me hope:

At Least I'll Have Something To Post About,
Witz

*Now imagine that a Safeway Paper Bag has thoughts and lives only to serve its noble purpose of temporarily storing and transporting groceries. Now imagine it being used as an emergency vomit receptacle. (In a high pitched voice) "Light at last! I am ready deserving shopper! I await the bounty that you have purchased! Good good, place in me now your-- OH DEAR GOD!!!! WHAT IS HAPPENING!? AHHHHHH! AHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Witz Pickz: Memorial Day Miracle

As everybody knows, it is nearly impossible to honor anybody appropriately without grilling meats and drinking beers-- especially those who fought for our country. Memorial Day is practically synonymous with "BBQ" and it makes sense to me. Much like the eucharist in church (Yep, I know your secrets), the grilled meat represents the delicious flesh of those who served and the beer represents the blood of those brave men and women...with roughly a 5.4% alcohol content. Drink enough beers and eat enough grilled meat and you too can experience just a little bit of the physical and emotional pain of war.

My friends and I, therefore, understood that it was our duty as Americans (and I've been feeling more and more American the closer I get to collecting unemployment) to grill meats and drink beers last night, despite the cold, dank weather. In the face of this adversity, we all piled into my Humvee-- er-- station wagon-- and headed to the civilian supply depot...called Safeway. There were six of us in my five person vehicle, because you know what's not scaring off America's enemies? The phrase, "Click it or Ticket." We made it to the store without incident, deployed to the appropriate aisles, and rallied back to the vehicle ready to go. We had acquired beer, steaks, burger meat, Clausen pickles*, kabobs (because one of my friends is a terrorist) and a pack of pizza Lunchables (which was weird and unrelated).

The drive back began smoothly and without incident. We were mere minutes from the house when we came around a bend in the road and saw the ambush. Cops. A car had been pulled over on the side of the road and on the opposite side, waiting for us to drive past, was another car, officer still inside. We needed only to get by the two cops to the stop signs and we'd be home free. It was still daylight out and at least one of my passengers sitting on another's lap was not click-it-ed. I did not want to be ticketed.

Keeping my calm, I made a flagrantly guilty right turn and proceeded to the far end of the street, to where a sign stated "Right Turn Only." I made a left and we proceeded beyond the parking lot and back up another street to approach the stop signs from the opposite side, avoiding the police. From our vantage point, we could see the cops, and as we approached, we watched as the cop car pulled forward, through the intersection to intercept us. We were effed. As our car approached the stop sign where the cop had setup perpendicular to us (so when we passed them, they would be behind us), we all had basically the same imagined dialogue:

COPS: So it appears that you all went DRAMATICALLY out of your way to avoid us, including going down a street where you HAD to have made an illegal left turn to end up where you are right now...sooo...is that an asian girl in your lap or are you just happy to see me?

Why can't it ever be both?! As we got to the cop car, the driver stuck his hand out and waved us by him-- a motion I took to mean, "We don't have all day to ticket you, so hurry up, this is inevitable." We rolled by the cop and got to our four way stop sign. Stop. Signal. Edge out. Turn. We waited and looked back, but nothing happened. When the cop was out of sight I sped up the hill and back to the house. We had made it. We had gone completely out of our way only to be tracked down by the cop car and then waved on by him without incident. It was a Memorial Day Miracle (and also just a really poorly done job by the police).




Good Thing They Didn't See the Kabobs,
Witz


*Clausen Kosher Dill Pickles are goddamn amazing. It also feels like the Germans trying way too hard to make up for WWII:

GERMAN 1: How are we going to make up for these atrocities?
GERMAN 2: What if we made reparations by way of delicious pickles?
GERMAN 1: Hm, I like it. Sweet gerkins?
GERMAN 2: No no, they have to be kosher.
GERMAN 1: Oh, right.
GERMAN 2: We'll make delicious Kosher Dill pickles. The Jews will love us!
GERMAN 1: Excellent! And we'll place them in the refrigerated section away from all the other pickles!
GERMAN 2: Wait, why?
GERMAN 1: No apparent reason!....c'mon, give me this one man, you turned down the sweet gerkins idea...
GERMAN 2: Fine-- deal!

Witz Pickz: Where My Head's At (Back On the Pickin' Wagon)

There's a pretty good explanation for why I'm writing this post naked, but I don't feel like it's necessary to get into it. Suffice it to say I just got back from a long run, respect west coast work hours, and don't need clothes because I am pretty much living the dream. In case that doesn't let you know where I'm at today, here are some more things that are on my mind:

I'm almost twenty-seven years old and I'm still scared to open yogurt because I know it's gonna spit at me.

I'm considering taking yoga at my gym because I have the time to do it and figure it might help me avoid some soccer injuries. My hesitation, of course, is that I would suddenly become "9am On A Monday Yoga Guy." Unless I wear clothing made of money stitched together, people are going to know I don't have a job (and even then, it probably would come off a bit desperate, or be like the time I dressed up like a Mummy for Halloween and then it rained. The only thing worse than 9am On A Monday Yoga Guy is Naked 9am On A Monday Yoga Guy). It'll just be jobless me and a bunch of stay at home moms. Incidentally, all of those moms are terrible at their one task of STAYING AT HOME!

This from CNN the othe day:
Bill Clinton: But I do hope he gets some more target practice before he goes out again...
Wolf Blitzer: What do you make of that? I guess it's the implication of the shooting incident where he (Cheney) went hunting a few years ago and shot his friend in the face.

I definitely laughed while on the treadmill at that, which is always very weird for both me and everyone around me. Yes, Wolf, I would say that is probably what he was referring to.

I bought a pack of Euro-Mentos called Aqua Kiss in Paris. I bought them because Aqua Kiss is a gross name for a product, and sounds like something they'd use on you at the dentist's office-- like that thing that sucks all the water out of your mouth-- THAT should be the Aqua Kiss. "Aqua Kiss" shouldn't be something you put in your mouth to improve breath in case of an actual kiss. An "Aqua Kiss" sounds like a sloppy, overactive salivary gland problem that scares people off. "Ugh, he totally aqua-kissed me. It was like kissing a Smart Water." And you know what? When I ate one-- my mouth had a lot more saliva! Maybe that really is what it's supposed to do?


Paris also has condom dispensers in the Metro, which is both presumptuous and problematic. It's presumptuous because it's like the french are saying, "We know, we know, Paris is romantic, so much so that we must place condoms in our least romantic location." I rarely buy condoms WHILE smelling urine. It's problematic because the Metro is the LEAST friendly place in the city. The rule is not to make eye-contact with anyone, so it's very unlikely you're going to meet someone ON THE METRO and immediately be like, "Let's do this thing-- oh no, I don't have a-- OH WAIT, I can get one on the way out so there's no time for us to think better of this." Why might you think better of it? Oh, because anyone you meet on the metro who plans to buy a condom AT the metro has a previous criminal record AND is a virtual choose your own adventure book of STDs. It's also weird, because putting condoms in the Metro is like advertising, "The Metro: You Can Fuck Here.**" My biggest concern, however, is simply WHO BUYS METRO DISPENSER CONDOMS?? I wouldn't buy winter gloves in the subway, but people are willing to trust Metro Condoms??

"Honey, did you pick up some condoms?"
"Why, yes dear, I grabbed them at the Metro just today."
"I knew you wanted children!"

One STD Free Person + One STD Free Person + 1 Metro Condom = Two People With STDs

Somebody showed me these online:



Now try and picture somebody UNDER 300 pounds wearing them. Can't do it, can you?

As the Presidio Crew and I were discussing, M&M's melt in your hand exactly as easily as Reese's Pieces do, despite their claims. I think it's alright though, because it's basically portion control. "Hey fatty, maybe try and eat them slower next time, huh? Try taking three out of the bag at once. Oh, you're sharing the bag at the movies? Well, see your chocolatey palm? Yeah-- that means you're a dick."

I don't find pizza bagels to be anywhere near as good as either pizza or bagels, which are two of my favorite things in the world. They say "when pizza's on a bagel, you can eat pizza anytime!" which makes me think that if you eat pizza bagels for dinner, you're not taking full advantage of the offer. You know what else I can eat anytime? Pizza. And bagels. Because I'm a goddamn adult. Also, in that equation, the bagel seems to represent "Anytime," right? Like, it could be described mathematically as "X + Bagel = Appropriate All the Time." So, really, I can put whatever the hell I want on a bagel and eat it whenever the hell I want. "When burritos are on a bagel, you can eat burritos anytime!"

Witz: When a bottle of beer is on a bagel, you can have a bottle of beer anytime!
Person: But you drank that beer and didn't even touch your bagel!
Witz: Shhhhut up.

Orange has to be the least hip-hop word ever. Nothing rhymes with it. Least hip hop words and phrases:

5) Poland Springs
4) Quinoa
3) upper-middle class
2) hysterectomy
1) Orange


Any of These Jokes Landing?,
Witz

**Which would actually be ripping off the marketing of The Days Inn.

Witz Pickz: Customs

Welp, against all odds I made it back to America. Not before I could have this little tete-a-tete with the barely english speaking Prague-ian guy sitting next to me:

Pilot: Coming up on the left of the plane, you'll see the famous San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge...(the guy leans to look out the window)
Me: That's not it-- it's directly under the wing.
Guy: Oh...
Me: That's the Bay Bridge.
Guy: Ah...
Me: Which I guess is still a pretty cool bridge.
Guy: Mm...
Me: It's supposed to be the world's biggest suspension bridge or something.
Guy: Ahh...
Me: Are you interested in bridges?
Guy: No, not really.

See what happens when I'm silent for 11 hours? After the flight, I had a couple of fun little encounters with the good people at customs. The first of which took place with the actual customs agent:

Customs Lady: And did you bring back any food items?
Witz: No. Well, I did-- but I ate them on the plane...it was two croissants...**
Customs Lady: (Awkward silent stare) You can go ahead.

This was immediately followed by this exchange with the customs security woman while she looked at my passport:

Witz: Hi, how are you? (Terrorists wouldn't ask that, right?)
Her: (mimicking my deep voice) Good. You a DJ or something?
Witz: (I paused for a second, only making it more awkward when I replied) Yes, actually, at Stanford.
Her: Hm. (Looking up and scoping me out) Alright, go ahead.

Could I possibly have sounded like more of a terrorist sneaking into the United States for the first time and trying too hard to sound American?? "Yes, I am a radio disc jockey at Stanford University, which is, of course in Palo Alto, and is home to the Stanford Cardinal. How is the weather today? Is it of the seasonal average 65 degrees? I hope there are no droughts or earthquakes, as those are two of California's most problematic natural disasters! Mmm, do I smell hot dogs?"

Finally, I think we are all a little surprised that I've seemingly made it back into the country without the swine flu. Maybe it's because the swine flu is the most flagrantly racist flu ever. "Oh, you're American-- sorry, I'll stay away-- I only kill Mexicans..."

While I might be back in the US, I need to address two cultural issues that I noticed while in France.

The Over-Abundance of Cripples:
The fact that I was seeing people with EUROPEAN CRUTCHES (like ski poles that remind the person just how incapable of skiing they are) distracted me enough that it took me a while to realize HOW MANY people I was seeing with crutches. They were EVERYWHERE! France must give out crutches the way we give out A.D.D. medication (or school nurses give out cough drops), because I simply do not see that many people on crutches here in America. "Broken leg? Crutches! Twisted ankle? Crutches! Foot fell asleep? Crutches! Poor? Crutches!"

Blind People:
I don't know what it is, but the french are TERRIBLE at being blind! At first, I thought I'd witnessed an isolated incident; a guy wandering down the sidewalk, running into every patio chair that was in the way. Every few feet, someone walking by him would turn him in the right direction and off he'd go, careening to the side and slamming into the next outdoor table that came along (which was just as funny to watch as you'd think). It was actually a lot like this video that Euro-Trip told me about:



Only, it wasn't an isolated incident.

As I started paying more attention, I saw numerous blind people just doing an awful awful job of being without sight. One guy was stumped by an alcove and needed the help of a passing woman to get him back on track. Another blind guy (I swear) clipped his shoulder on a passing street sign and barely managed not to tumble to the ground. The champion of all blind people (and I promise these weren't just drunks with sunglasses) was caught in the phenomenal predicament of being stuck between the bumpers of two cars-- unable to figure out the direction he needed to move to set himself free from the hell he had stumbled into. Thankfully, a construction worker guided him back to the sidewalk, to the chagrin of patio tables everywhere.

Now I know you're wondering why I didn't help any of these blind people out, but here's the thing-- I don't speak french. So to go over and try talking to these blind people seemed like a bad idea. It seemed like I might be saying, "Hey, not only are you blind and trapped between two cars, but not even your heightened sense of hearing is gonna help you out with the fact that I'm speaking English." Besides, it seems to me that everybody helping these blind people might be the very reason they are so entirely disastrous at being blind.

"Maybe That Translates Funnier In French...",
Witz

**Possibly the shortest distance between Witz and a cavity search.

Witz Pickz: Grave Decisions

You are not going to believe this shit:



Yup. Child molestation is back on in Paris. I don't know who lobbied for the change or what happened, but the sign doesn't lie. I suppose Paris could be split into molestation legal and molestation illegal zones, I dunno-- it's all very confusing. This does present the United States with a great opportunity though. We should start marketing France's laissez-faire molestation laws (hahaha...god, I'm clever) all over the place in an attempt to get our molesters to move to Paris. It will a) get rid of some molesters and b) make it super awkward for non-molesters to travel to Paris (at which point I will start the site pedophileORfrancophile.com and camp out at the airport with a camera...and then go to jail).

Incidentally, in the off chance that I'm wrong and the sign is not related to child molestation, what does it possibly mean? Nobody I've asked, including some french citizens, have any idea. My best guess is, "It is now okay to let your children run free in traffic" or "It is not okay for you to let your children run free in traffic," and frankly, my first theory seems way more reasonable.

Speaking of which, here's something I learned today: Even if you are about to eat Le Petit Ecolier cookies, it is never okay to say, "There's a little schoolboy with my name on it," out loud.


I found something else unusual as I was walking through a famous cemetery (I say "famous" not to be pretentious, but strictly because the other option is simply to say, "as I was walking through a cemetery" which seems like I have a lot more explaining to do. "Oh, it was a FAMOUS cemetery? Nevermind then, that makes perfect sense!"). I noticed that a number of the graves had multiple families' names on them, which seems a) kinda cheap and b) an awkward conversation. I mean how do you bring that up? How long do you need to know someone before it's appropriate to bring up going halvies on your eternal resting place?

"Listen...I know we just met...and maybe this is a little premature, but...do you-- do you want to share a tomb?"

I mean, I'll like someone on Monday and won't be able to stand them by Friday. I make best friends ordering turkey at the supermarket! I'm not in any kind of position to be asking anyone to share a grave with me!

I have good friends that I can't even share an order of Thai food with because they always order the weird shit-- how do you decide that you're able to split a grave? Even if you say "No crosses!" or "Don't do anything weird!" you're both saying, "Deal," but really thinking, "Whatever you say-- you're gonna die first and then I'll do whatever the hell I want-- and I want a grave shaped like a racecar." Then you die first and get to spend eternity with this statue keeping you company:



You get to the afterlife:

Witz: Dude, what the hell was that??
BFF: What?
Witz: Uhh, the small naked child statue??
BFF: I thought it was poetic!
Witz: We look like child molesters!
BFF: That would explain why we're in hell...
Witz: Well...maybe-- it could also have a lot to do with my extensive joking about rape, the deaf, the mentally challenged, the physically challenged, various ethnicities, and a fairly prominent disregard for the seriousness of child molestation...*

Which brings up another point-- is sharing a grave anything like marrying for a green card? Like, if I'm a cusper, but my grave-mate is going to Hell, do I get dragged down too? Is the opposite true? If so, that makes the decision even more difficult. "Well, Nitro hasn't done anything awful YET, but I could see him doing some really heinous shit when he gets to be eighty plus."

Retirement Home Police: How could you sexually assault that extremely old woman??
Elderly Nitro: What?! Sexually assault her?? She was DROOLING!

But say you do find someone you think you could split permanent rent with. Even if you find someone with the same decor preferences; even if you somehow work out the financial side of things (Ok, I make more, so I'll pay a little more, but I get the "Ring in-case I'm not actually dead bell" on my side of the grave**); even if you are 100% certain that you want to share a grave with someone-- the names become an issue. I'm not talking about whose name goes first-- I'm simply talking about space. Berkowitz and Pomoloupolos don't work. You can obviously rule out all hyphenated last names. It's just too dangerous. "Dude, calm down! I'm positive both our names will fit."



Yeah, Poisson got fucked.

I just don't see how you could find a grave-mate. Then again, having said that, if anyone is interested in splitting a simple, yet cozy plot, with the tomb in the shape of the phone booth from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, please send me an email. Bonus points if your last name is Pickz and double points if it's Pickz-Dot-Com as a result of a series of failed marriages. Let's make this magic happen.

Ce N'est Pas Grave,
Witz


*Here's how the rest of that conversation goes:

BFF: Where'd you do all that?
Witz: On my blog.
BFF: Pff-- you have a blog?
Witz: Yes.
BFF: Ha!
Witz: Great-- now I'm not just "Naked child on his grave child molester guy" I'm also, "the naked child on his grave child molester guy WITH A BLOG." I'm never gonna get laid.

**If I paid more, I would definitely demand to be buried on my left side with my right leg sticking out across the other person-- JUST in case death really is an eternal sleep. I don't care if it's a dude, I just want to be comfortable.

Witz Pickz: Ambiguously Gay Paris: Discoveries In the First Two Days

They say that travel teaches you not only about other cultures, but about yourself as well. So far, I've learned a little about each.

Last night, fueled by jet-lag instead of red bull for a change, I was up until 4am drinking wine and hanging out with my sister, some of her friends, her bulgarian roommate, and her bulgarian roommate's parents-- all of whom spent the night. With limited sleeping space, but plentiful drinks, my double-bed sized air mattress suddenly became a bed for two, and thanks to the powers of Awkwardness, that meant that I'd be sharing it with one of my sister and my mutual friends-- we'll call him Euro-Trip. We slept head to toe (because we don't like to look at each other when our groins touch), which did help us avoid some discomfort, but since we both fell asleep on our sides, also led to us waking up with our clothed asses forming a yin-yang*, which, while very zen, was also very weird.

Later, we played this fun game called "Heart Attack" where we eat a steady supply of bread, cheese, pancakes, pastries, crepes, and wine, and then walk around as much as possible. We got lunch at a small cafe, and Euro-Trip went ahead and ordered the "tartare de boeuf" which he thought was steak. I saw the waiter laugh as he passed the order to the chef, which should have been a hint, but I assumed he was just laughing at how awesome we were at ordering in french. As we finished eating some pattee, which tastes like Slim Jim Cream Cheese, our food arrived. The french must be the best energy conservationists in the world because here's what he got:



Now, I know what you're thinking-- you're thinking, "Why does that look so familiar?" Well, it's because that is actually Meatwad from Adult Swim's Aqua Teen Hunger Force!



and to a lesser extent, Mickey Rourke:



TARTARE DE BOEUF IS: RAW! FUCKING! BEEF! I understand that different cultures have different forms of "acceptable cuisine," but when a guy orders "the raw meat wad" with an American accent, and he hasn't been repeatedly raping your entire family in front of you, you need to let a dude know what's up. Like, if I were a waiter in America and somebody walked in and ordered sheep's cock, I would feel a moral obligation to say, "Alright, cool, just wanna go ahead and check to make sure you know that sheep's cock is actually a sheep's COCK, ok?" I know it must have been amusing that someone finally ordered the beef wad, but come on! How is that a necessary menu item? Who is going around saying, "You know, I'd like to go out to dinner with my friends, but there's a package of raw beef in my refrigerator that I've been dying to rip into..." There is also the chance the they were completely fucking with us:

Chef: Yo, see if he'll eat raw beef.
Waiter: No way, that's gross!
Chef: Oh c'mon man, they're American-- they eat Jack In the Box, Taco Bell, and Waffle House! They'll eat it!
Waiter: I wouldn't feel right...
Chef: They're responsible for Ashton Kutcher AND Howie Mandel.
Waiter: Fine, I'll do it.

Either to his credit or early disease and worm ridden demise, Euro-Trip ate about half of the dish along with all of his and my fries, in the hopes that they would form a metaphorical and physical box around the meat in his stomach, hide it away, and never speak or think of it again.

Finally, I discovered something about France: No child molesters allowed!



It's such a basic idea, really, but a simple sign reminds people that the whole pedaphilia/kidnapping is, in fact, not ok. Maybe this is just the event planner in me, but there's an important message here-- good signage goes a long way.

In A World of Pain et Fromage,
Witz


*aka an Ass Puzzle aka a homoerotic Barrel of Monkeys

Witz Pickz: French Adventure -- The Flight Response

I literally just sat on my ass for eleven hours. I got up twice for no more than thirty seconds to stretch, but was otherwise ass to seat for almost half a day. Let me tell you that it's not as easy as parents would have you believe when they say things like, "Are you just going to sit around on your ass all day??" The answer ought to be, "No way, I don't have that kind of dedication and endurance." Sitting on your ass all day is like an Olympic* sport-- and I just won the silver medal. There was one guy who was REALLY good at it, which is why I only got silver, but I'm pretty sure that's because he had cerebral palsy-- like he didn't get up once and his parents kept feeding him and at point had to take off his glasses and dab at his eyes with a napkin (I can only assume he was shedding tears of joy at besting me).

The flight was made bearable (meaning able to be accomplished by TV personality Bear Grylls) by the older American couple who sat next to me and conversed plentifully throughout the flight. This also goes to prove my theory, lately, that strangers love talking to me. Let me explain: I was in the library on Saturday, when a random lady turns to me from a couple shelves over and says, "You want to laugh? Read this book-- it's about a vacuum salesman in Cuba in the 1960's and he gets mistaken for a CIA agent and instead of correcting them, draws diagrams of vacuums to solve problems!".....Apparently, I look like the type of guy who would enjoy a book involving mistaken identity and vacuum sales. "Lady, why the fuck would I read that book?" No, what I really said was, "Interesting, I'll check it out (yeah, that was a spontaneous library pun)," and I did.

On Sunday, I was at the track, which is a whole other post, really, and was approached by a large hispanic man while I was waiting by the restrooms. "Bathroom?" he aggressively questioned? Confused, I asked him to repeat the question and glanced at the Men's room that he was pointing to. "Bathroom?!" he demanded of me, who it needs to be pointed out was just A DUDE standing by the bathrooms. "Yes. That IS a bathroom," I responded, once again feeling like I'm really excelling at everyday life. The man nodded his head approvingly and marched off into the bathroom.

Back on the plane, we were five minutes into conversation when the man told me, "You'd do great in entertainment, it's obvious you like people," which is mostly true because there are people I like, even if I think most people are miserable human beings. I also detected an asterisk in his statement that went something like, "You know, except for bad drivers, slow pedestrians, bikers, frat guys, the deaf, the barely deaf, people who say 'guy' as part of an introduction, people who oppose gay marriage legally and not just by opinion, everyone in the film Religulous including Bill Maher, people who low five, Tucker Max, anyone associated with Stuff White People Like, anyone over 6' 2'' that can't make a simple lay-up, Chris Kattan, people using checks at the supermarket, and anyone who ever referred to Charles Schwab as 'Chuck.'"

As it turned out, I did like this couple, because he said things like, "German airplanes are always on time. We flew Lufthansa to Berlin and it was great-- except when we flew over London and they bombed it," and she said things like, "Mendecino is a very romantic town, you have to go-- and the best part is that there's NOTHING going on past 8pm, so whether she's feeling like it or not, you know what the two of you are gonna be doing at night!" Awesome.

The flight itself was made rough by two key factors: the movies and the meals. The movies were Marley & Me and Madagascar 2-- both of which basically big middle fingers to America for the entertainment we export. I didn't watch either because a) Marley & Me needs to be experienced on blu-ray to be fully appreciated and b) I didn't think I'd understand Madagascar 2 having not seen the original.

The meals, which I dub Pain Plates, were the most baffling convergence of food I have ever seen. It's like they purposefully wanted my insides to try and become my outsides. They put things together that I would NEVER eat with each other under normal circumstance. "Witz, what do you want for dinner? How about all the parts of the chicken we don't talk about plated with some mashed potatoes-- oh and some cous cous with raw salmon on top-- you end most meals with rice pudding, too, right? Hey, what do you want for breakfast? Two slices of ham with some american cheese flopped on top? Done." Only, you don't have any options, so you eat it all and let the Gastrointestinal World War II Re-enactment play out.

On the other hand, I was on the plane for a reason. Did I mention that as I write this, I am sitting at a desk in a Parisian apartment, eating fresh baguette with goat cheese and a bottle of Bordeaux? Did I mention the pain au chocolat that I consumed in roughly .051 seconds because it was the most delicious pastry I've had since I was last here? "Dear Skinny Witz, gone to Paris to purchase a fat suit-- back soon." So far, so good...

I Moved At 600mph Today, What the Hell Did You Do?,
Witz

Witz Pickz: iPhone Baby Shakin' Application

Everyone has been up in arms about the new Baby Shaker Application for the iphone (but not Shaker Babies, because the Shakers didn't believe in sex and that's why there aren't anymore Shakers, just their furniture, which, not surprisingly, is rigid, joyless, and creaky...) and I think it's ridiculous. I have to give Ash Good As It Gets(formerly Titan AE) credit for bringing this to my attention, but since then, I have heard the story on CNN, Facebook, and most of my friends. Steve Jobs (who should also change his name because he sounds like a porn star) pulled the application and publicly apologized for ever having it, which seems very extreme to me.

I guess I just thought this was America. Shaking babies is as American as a British Nanny-- wait, that's not quite right. Regardless, one woman was heard above everyone else because she had a baby that was shaken and died? What about all their other games??* What about "Pirate Treasure Hunt?" Isnt' that a bit touchy right now? Or how about fucking HANGMAN???

Player: Um, is there a g?
Game: Nope. Now you get hung. Just like when your best friend Tommy killed himself.

There's a much greater chance of people knowing someone who hung themself (or are considering it themselves) than of people knowing a baby that was shaken to death. There's an entire series of tower defense games where you shoot down planes-- what about those? "My husband was shot down in a balloon by an arrow tower!" Or what about sports games? "My life was ruined when I broke my back playing football! I find this DEEPLY offensive!"

That's what the spokeswoman for Apple told people. She said, "This application was deeply offensive and should not have been approved for distribution on the App Store." TO WHOM IS IT OFFENSIVE?? People who shook their babies?? I'm not entirely sure we should be concerned with their feelings! Is it offensive to babies?? It shouldn't be-- the more people shaking iphones, the fewer people out shaking babies. Nobody's shaking their iphone and saying, "Hey, this is pretty fun, but it just makes me want to try the real thing!" And if someone IS saying that, then they were ALREADY going to be a problem.

Which brings me to my next point-- it's educational. Parents don't shake their babies because they want to kill them, they shake their babies to shut them up. If nothing else, the baby shaking application can show them why that's not a good idea. Shake, shake, shake, dead baby. Shake, shake, shake, dead baby. Shake, shake, shake, dead baby. Hm. I can't shut this kid up without killing it-- maybe I'll rethink my strategy for quietting my child (which is why I not only endorse the baby shaking application, but also think it's important that we come up with a "Baby Plastic Bag Helmet Application" and a "Sim Dumpster" game). Educational tools have been disguised as games for years, and not all education is pretty-- just take all the STD pictures they showed us in school. Nobody's running around saying, "Schindler's List went WAY overboard!"

Besides, have you even seen the game?



It's boring as hell! I can't imagine anyone spending more than 2 minutes using it before it just becomes super annoying. In fact, it would probably deter people from shaking real babies: "Man, I thought shaking babies would be fun and satisfying, but it's actually just really really boring and annoying....I'm gonna go stab some pets." ("Want to stab some pets? There's an app for that.") Ultimately, while the baby shaking app might have been in poor taste, it's not offensive-- it's just a shock value product for 99 cents. If you want to spend 99 cents and be truly offended, buy something at Taco Bell.

I Like My Babies Like My Martinis: Shaken,
Witz

*There's also an app called "Quickjack" which just for the name amuses 12 year old me

Witz Pickz: Hate Mail!!

I MADE IT! I GOT HATE MAIL! I am proud to announce that Witz Pickz has received its first legitimate hate mail-- well, hate comments, really. The most shocking thing about the angry comment is that it DIDN'T come from any of the more recent and obscenely offensive posts! It came from back when I touched on The Deaf Olympics and ignited a flurry of anti-Deaflympic sentiment. While the post certainly had some over-the-line jokes (that keep you coming back for more), I probably apologized for them more than I ever have in a post and made it very clear I was kidding. I won't do that here. Checkout the comment:

Anonymous said...

Ill be honest asshole! become Deaf and see how it works out for you. And the funny thing is I am not Deaf but I do have a lot of Deaf friends and the things they have to go through that they otherwise wouldnt if they were hearing. So when you learn about Deaf Culture, Post another blog and pull your head out of your ass! Have a wonderful day =)

First of all, if you're going to get all up in arms about something, use a name-- or at least a pseudonym, like I do every time I write something that brings me closer to hell. Second of all, I appreciate that you're being honest, but this is a classic case of telling instead of showing. If you want me to believe you're honest, sell me on your emotions-- in fact, the first step towards honesty is proper punctuation and writing more than one level above spam grammar.

"become Deaf and see how it works out for you?" Absolutely I won't do that. Although, if it makes you feel any worse, my doctor told me I'm probably going deaf in my left ear, which means I'm well on my way towards being The Barely Deaf and winning a couple of gold medals in the Deaflypics (where I will definitely sing, "The Barely Deaf, we have a bobsled team..."-- too bad no one will hear the reference...).

"And the funny thing is I am not Deaf but I do have a lot of Deaf friends and the things they have to go through that they otherwise wouldnt if they were hearing." Really?? IS that the funny thing?? And who has A LOT of deaf friends, anyway? I can see you having a maximum of three deaf friends-- and that's pushing it. Any more than three deaf friends and you're either up to something or the world's worst conversationalist. You're already on thin ice for capitalizing a state of being. What do your deaf friends think of you for having so many deaf friends? If I asked them if you were really their friend would they be like:



If I asked if they considered your social and communication skills a greater disability than their lack of hearing, would they be all:



Can we chalk up the latter half of your sentence as "a good try" because I can't make much of it. I assume you mean that you witness many tough struggles for your inordinate number of deaf friends, which I completely believe is the case, but don't see what it has to do with anything. I didn't claim that being deaf was easy, I just said that you can probably be deaf and run 400 yards in a straight line with equal opportunity.

"So when you learn about Deaf Culture, Post another blog and pull your head out of your ass! Have a wonderful day =)" For starters, sometimes I don't eat breakfast because it seems like a hassle to go downstairs and wait for a piece of bread to toast*, so I don't exactly see myself studying up on deaf culture. Even if I did, I don't see myself changing my opinion that it's possible to overcome great odds to achieve success, or is part of deaf culture "Giving up when things get tough and creating more achievable scenarios in which success is the only option?" I'd like to hear what your plethora of deaf buddies think of that.

"Have a wonderful day =)" Ooph, emoticon burn...

Abbott and Deaf Costello!

Abbott: You're aurally challenged!
Deaf Costello: Orally challenged?
Abbott: Aural.
Deaf Costello: Oral.
Abbott: That too.
Deaf Costello: What?
Abbott: Exactly.

Putting the ASL back in Asshole,
Witz

*It's mostly because of those stupid little "Neck brace" clips that come with loaves of bread. They specificaly use technology that asks, "Do you like your bread kiiind of fresh?" I spin the bread all tight and then put the clip on and it immediately comes undone. Useless.

Witz DOESN'T Pick: The Opposite of Road Rage, Supermarket A-Holes, and Hippie Hill

I've upgraded my Netflix from 2 DVD's to 3. I don't know if that means I'm coming to terms with my situation and making good decisions or if it's just one more step towards completely giving up, but I don't care, because I've got Religulous, Milk, and Jim Gaffigan's stand up arriving to distract me any minute now. While the weekdays are for solitary confinement, the weekends are for people-- and boy did I see some gems of the human race this weekend.

Thursday night, I was driving home at 2am on near empty streets (because that's how I roll now) when I passed a slow, beat up sedan which was going 25-30mph in the left hand lane. I was going 35-40mph and I hit four or five green lights in a row and eventually came to a light just as it turned red. After about 2 minutes of waiting, the sedan pulled up next to me, which meant that they got to see my one man show that I call, "Singing Full Volume To The Gaslight Anthem While Drumming On the Stearing Wheel Because Nobody's Supposed to See Me Driving At Two In the Goddamn Morning!" It took me a few seconds to realize that one of the kids in the car was standing up through the sunroof and trying to talk to me.

Kid: Hey!
Witz: What's up?
Kid: We caught up to you!
Witz: What?
Kid: We caught up to you!
Witz: Ok?
Kid: Don't drive so fast-- you're wasting gas!
Witz: Actually, I was only going 35 miles per hour, while the optimal cruising speed for gas efficiency in most vehicles, including my own, is 55 miles per hour, which is why many highway speed limits that were updated in the '70's during the last gas crisis are 55 miles per hour. Ironically, if I had been driving at 55 miles per hour, not only would I have been more efficient, but I would have made the light that caused me to stop and allowed you to catch up and we wouldn't even be having this conversation.

....

Ok, that's not what I said. What I actually said was:

Witz: I was only going 35 miles per hour, but I appreciate it, man.
Kid: I mean it!
Witz: Good lookin' out.

The light then proceeded to turn green, which presented an awkward moment as I had to decide whether or not to gun the engine and tear away from the sedan. I decided to drive exactly how I had been before, but suddenly realized that I quickly needed to be in the left hand lane in front of the other car for an upcoming turn. Gunning it, I pressed on the accelerator and pulled in front of the other car just in time for a tight curve, which meant I swung too quickly around the curve with my tires screeching as if I had been driving 90mph. Realizing I had just given a proverbial "Fuck You" to the sedan, I slammed on the pedal and accelerated quickly through the upcoming yellow light to avoid another awkward "The More You Know" moment with a couple of 16 year olds. Subaru Outback, biotch.

Saturday included fun at the supermarket. I'm waiting in line to buy a sandwich and this is what I hear (almost verbatim) from the guy dressed like Tony Little in front of me, who is speaking AT the asian girl making his sandwich:

Guy: Just the meat, cheese, lettuce, and tomato. That's it. Ha! You can't believe it, can you?
Girl: ...
Guy: You can't believe that's all I want on my sandwich-- that's because we Americans always want everything on there, don't we? You people don't understand us, do you?
Girl: ...
Guy: Mayonaisse, mustard, fat, fat, fat-- that's why America's so obese. We want everything.
Girl: ...
Guy: Super-size it, right?? Can you super-size that? Aha-ha-ha. Can you super-size that?
Girl: ...
Guy: You don't need everything on there. Meat, cheese, some veggies-- that's healthy. Americans, we don't get that. (the girl hands him his sandwich which he accepts without a thank you and leaves. I step up to the counter)
Girl: What an asshole (definitely born and raised in California).

My weekend concluded with a day at Golden Gate Park on Sunday. We specifically went to a part of the park called "Hippie Hill" because when we go to a park, we like to feel like we're in our own backyard...that happens to be full of completely insane people and includes the constant threat of stepping on a hypodermic needle. I've been a few times, and the experience never fails to amaze me.

Let me set the scene for you. A hill crowded with people smoking weed, shaking from meth or heroin, and dancing. On the field below, people throwing frisbees, dancing, twitching, dealing-- or playing with baseballs, footballs, soccer balls, or in our case, the nerf whistler football, which is still just as unnecessary as it ever was. One patch of grass is occupied by a midget sized tee-pee which looks like the last bit of land that we relegated to the Native Americans and then said, "Buildings cannot exceed three feet in height." Jugglers, hula-hoopers, stick twirlers, and the everpresent drum circle; a veritable circus of extraneous mediocrity. I watched two stick twirling men and wondered how many hours of practice they put in at home before deciding to take their act to the park to be seen "casually enjoying themselves." How did they even meet?

Twirler 1: Nice to meet you, Damian, how do you know Katharine?
Twirler 2: Well, Eben, I know Katharine from college. We were on the ultimate frisbee team together...
Twirler 1: Oh, so you like throwing a frisbee?
Twirler 2: I do! I also enjoy fishing, knitting, camping, stick twirling--
Twirler 1: --Whoah whoah whoah! I'm gonna go ahead and stop you right there, Damian, did you say stick twirling?
Twirler 2: Of course I did.
Twirler 1: I myself am a stick twirler.
Twirler 2: What a coincidence! Perhaps we should hangout for a series of stick twirling and non-stick twirling activities, ultimately spending Sunday afternoons at Golden Gate Park showcasing our skills non-chalantly.
Twirler 3: What about me!?
Twirler 1: What do you do?
Twirler 3: I slide oversized spindles between two sticks with string attached!
Twirlers: We're gonna be such good friends.

What gets me isn't the things people do, but what must be going through their head in order to do them:

"I'm gonna go down to the park by the drum circle and play 'Summertime' on my saxophone! It's not important that I don't really know how."
"Should I look for a job today orrrrrr spend eight hours playing a drum?"
"Crack crack crack crack crack crack crack crack...."
"I'm the guy who brought a trumpet to the drum circle. They're gonna LOVE ME!"
"Devil sticks ARE NOT dead and I will prove that to the world."
"Which came first, the hula hoop or the ecstasy?"

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "You're just upset because all of the shirtless heroin addicts make you look overweight." Fair enough. But ultimately, I just want to pick out different people doing different things to fight each other using their "talents." Stick guy, fight yoga guy! Rhythmic Gymnastics girl, fight hula hoop girl! Meth guy, fight heroin gu-- oh, you already have that covered. Good.

So that's how my weekend went, which made me wonder how important human contact really is. Let the agorophobia begin.

Good Thing I Can Judge Other People Since I'm Being So Productive...,
Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: The Vicious Hair Cycle

Yeah yeah, I know you have to deal with things like jobs, and kids, and bills, but listen to what I'm dealing with right now: my hair when I don't shower. Let me tell you that unemployment is no field day (although I do sometimes carry eggs on spoons)-- it's not all lying around the house with no concerns. Sometimes the lying around with no concerns only raises more concerns. Case and point: The Vicious Hair Cycle.

The Vicious Hair Cycle isn't specific to unemployment, as it can be a problem during long weekends, school vacations, and ill-advised Lent sacrifices-- but it is certainly more prevalent during an extended absence from office exposure. You see, without commitments or places to be, showers aren't as necessary as they once were. I can run to Walgreens unshowered to buy some Post-Easter candy on sale-- it might even help because I won't be asked by the homeless person out front for some money.* Unfortunately, when my hair gets too long, my unshowered head becomes "socially unacceptable" and "terrifying to babies." When I see a cute girl at the gym, I have to switch from "flirtatious" to "damage control," meaning "if this girl stops looking at me and doesn't think I'm a serial killer, then I've done alright." Do you know the facial expressions you have to manipulate to convey that you are NOT a serial killer? I'll tell you that they are very similar to the facial expressions of someone who IS DEFINITELY A SERIAL KILLER. So the hair is a problem.

The dilemma, therefore, is that my unshowered hair must be presentable in order for it to go unshowered. I need to think far enough ahead to get a haircut that I can utilize when I'm spontaneously lazy, which ruins the whole thing really. That's the type of shit I'm dealing with right now. So, with all due respect to your mortgage payments, credit card debt, student loans, and unexpected third children-- my life's tough too.


ON THE PLUS SIDE, when you have the amount of free time to not shower all day, you also tend to stay up late enough to watch infomercials like the Mr T Flavor Wave Oven Turbo. The Mr T Flavor Wave Oven (Turbo) has one thing going for it-- Mr T. Mr T is the celebrity spokesman for the oven, and engages in amazingly bad acting opposite the non-celebrity spokewoman, Darla Haun. I'm just going to post this video and have you experience it for yourself, but let me say that the best part about the whole thing is the way Darla constantly condescends to Mr. T by ending everything she directs at him with, "Mr. T." I dare you to say, "Now look at these vegetables, Mr. T," without sounding like a complete patronizing asshole.

I promise this isn't a sketch.

Darla: I have a surprise for you!
Mr. T: It's not my birfday!
Darla: It had to be your birthday sometime this year!
Mr. T: You're not mistaken about that, Darla! (blows/spits out candles)



"There's nothing worse than reheatin' pizza in the microwave!" I guarantee there is something worse than reheatin' pizza in the microwave, Mr. T. I imagine whatever horrifyingly sad life you go home to at night might put soggy pizza in perspective for you. God help whoever's back home waiting in bed for Mr. T when his day of selling the Flavor Wave and shaming himself is over.

My favorite part of the infomerical is when they have a "cooking things montage" and show time lapse photography of meats becoming smaller and cooked, which looks just as much like a "broiling fetuses montage" as you'd expect**. Also, is there a single one of you who just watched that video and ISN'T convinced that The Mr. T Flavor Wave causes cancer? That's what I thought.***

I Pity the Fool Who Becomes A Caricature of Himself and Sells A Product That Sounds Like It's the Nickname of a Douchey Guy You Knew In College,
Witz

*Speaking of which, here's something I learned in Seattle a few weekends ago. If you're wandering down the street, with the wind whipping your hair into a frenzy, and you have two pieces of wheeled luggage in tow...you won't be asked for money by the homeless. They're pretty sure you're one of them.

**Also starring Mr. T.

***Did I just sneak "broiling fetuses" AND "cancer" into one paragraph, Mr. T? I'm really getting good at this...

Witz Pickz: Home Office Edition!

I've been dealing with a lot of changes the past couple of weeks; job, life, hair where there wasn't hair before; and I apologize for the lack of posting. The long and short of it is that I was laid off and am therefore in the midst of what amounts to an awesome extended vacation with an all inclusive stress package. It's like, "You're going to Spring Break!!!...BUT you're pregnant." Either way, I'm drinking.

Week one of unemployment went like this: Wake up early, healthy breakfast, gym, healthy lunch, something creative, dinner, maul anyone I know for social contact after a long day without any. Repeat. Not bad overall.

Here's week two: "I COULD have wheat toast for breakfast orrrr....PIZZA AND COOKIES!" Yep. I've reached the "pizza and cookies breakfast" phase of unemployment. It's the phase where I realize I can do whatever I want and the only repercussion is my complete inability to fall asleep at night as I am haunted by the vast purposelessness of my days and, by extension, life-- which isn't the worst trade off ever (the worst trade off ever was when the Native Americans traded All of America for Diseased Blankets. This is followed closely by any time someone traded first time sex for herpes and/or a baby.) So you see where I'm at.

You'll, therefore, understand if some of my posts in the next few weeks are less about grand adventure and more about things that are currently big deals in my life...like saaay...

My New Goddamn Overachieving Toothbrush:
Yeah, so I bought a new toothbrush because mine started to taste a lot like the floor. This is because, in fact, I had dropped it on the floor a few times...you try and wash it, but it's never quite the same. So I went to the store and perused the toothbrush section as if I had a friggen clue what I was looking for. It's impossible to shop for a new toothbrush as if you know what you're looking for-- because you're just looking for a toothbrush. You didn't do any pre-store research. The only thing I've learned about toothbrushes over the years is that the softness labels are like Starbucks sizes-- soft means hard, medium means severe pain, and hard means Saw VI. Which left me and some other guy looking at the toothbrush display together, both knowing we didn't know what we needed, but acting like we were buying a new car. In the end, we both picked the same brush-- you know which one? The one that was on sale for $2.50.

As I checked out, I noticed the brush was called "the 360" or something like that, and said something about a tongue and cheek cleaner, but I attributed that to desperate salesmanship and not insane technology. Later that night, I took it out for a test drive, and boy did I learn something. My new goddamn overachieving toothbrush has a scrubbing patch on the opposite side of the brush. So every time I brush my teeth, the opposite side is sandpaper scraping something else. Not only don't you have a choice in the matter, but the scrubber side was apparently invented to file down wolves teeth, not human mouth tissue. You ever exfoliate the inside of your cheeks? Less than fun. And yes, while you're able to use the other side PURPOSEFULLY to scrape your tongue, it's a permamnent fixture for all other brushing moments. Like all things, however, I've started to become used to it-- used to the pain, used to the struggle-- and I've almost begun to enjoy it. After all, in this world of pizza and cookie breakfasts, sometimes it's good to feel something real-- even if it's the mild pain of a toothbrush on the inside of your cheek.

I'm Not Unemployed, I'm A Writer...Oh, Wait...Yeah, I'm Unemployed...,
Witz