Dead Aim

The Mrs. + a slang dictionary I bought at a yard sale = comedic hijinks.

Seen in my kitchen recently.

Recently my wife said to me, "People who park on the front lawn are the same people who pee in the shower. They must just think, 'Oh, this seems convenient.'"

The Mrs. and I recently went to hear the LA Philharmonic at the Walt Disney Concert Hall.

If you've never heard of it, the Walt Disney Concert Hall is a modern architectural wonder. As if out of the future, it’s a monument of twisted steel that gleams in the Southern California sunshine.

It’s beautiful actually. A friend of mind deemed it so sexy that he claims to have been physically aroused the first time he laid eyes on it.

While the sculpted exterior is breathtaking in a visual sense, the auditorium is just as awe-inspiring aurally. It’s supposedly one of the premiere acoustic venues in the entire world and creates an intimate connection between the orchestra and audience.

I must concur.

The music was amazing. Every note floated up to our nosebleed seats with absolute clarity. I swear you could hear the sound of the first violinist’s fingers sliding up and down the strings as he played. It would be difficult not to be impressed.

But a concert hall of near-perfect acoustics also has its disadvantages. As a matter of fact, the acoustics were so good that you could hear someone cough clear across the auditorium. So there I was, dressed in my Sunday’s best ready for a bit of high culture and completely distracted by the sounds around me.

How am I supposed to concentrate on listening to the nuances of great musical pieces in an environment like this? Every time there was a bit of silence you could hear the rustling of programs, a whisper or a wheeze.

That, and I swear I heard someone fart.

Is anyone else writing a television script on two subjects I know nothing about (home design and black collectibles)?

Oh, just me then?

Say what you want about Los Angeles (and I'll probably agree with you), but the winter weather here totally rules.

The view from my rooftop last night.

Three things:

1. Saw this near the Rose Bowl swap meet in Pasadena.

2. "I'm sorry ma'am, but this tag doesn't prove to me that this poodle is a service dog."
-Overheard told to a woman holding a miniature pink poodle by a security guard at the Rose Bowl swap meet.

3. I used to own this with a friend.

I would assume most people have “Googled” themselves by now, haven’t they?

I’ll admit I’ve dropped my line in the Google pond a few times, but to be honest, it’s not very satisfying. Oh sure, my name comes up. As a matter of fact, it comes up a lot. And by the way, I’m not a John Smith or anything like that. When you type in my name, you’re getting pretty specific results. The last time I checked, my name came up approximately 9,980 times.

Only it’s not me. It’s my evil twin… My alter ego… My doppelganger.

See, there’s another person out there with my name. The exact same name. And we once lived in the same town in the Pacific Northwest.

As a 20-year-old college student, I would get messages on my answering machine like, “Hey _____! I just wanted to call and congratulate you and your wife on the new baby!” You can only imagine how this went over with occasional co-ed I would bring home.

Later, I would get voicemails like, “Hey, _____. This is Mr. Jones over at Blankity-Blank Financial services. I need you to give me a call about what to do with your portfolio.” This was right before the dot-com bubble burst, so it’s probably best I didn’t return the call and give explicit instructions on how to handle financial affairs.

Now that we no longer live in the same town, I don’t get his phone calls anymore, but he still haunts me over the internet.

And I hate him for it. And by hate I mean pure, unmitigated jealousy.

This twin of mine is an often-published author with many books to his credit. He’s written countless articles for numerous periodicals. He’s a contributing editor for a major magazine. He’s an expert and authority on the subject he writes about and he’s readily found on Amazon.com. You can see how he takes up most of the internet real estate when it comes to our name.

I don’t think it’s the phone calls or even the Google bit that actually bothers me. It’s just that he’s always taking the glory of our shared name.

I shouldn’t be resentful. Even though we both make our living with the written word, he probably doesn’t even know I exist. Even though we once lived in the same town, we’ve never met. I’m sure he’s a nice guy with a nice family, and he’s probably had the name longer than I have.

That being said, I’ve decided to take back some of the market share of our name. I’m going to write more bad television than anyone’s ever seen. I’m going to hire a publicist. I’m considering robbing a bank, or at least committing securities fraud. I might even reveal my real name here so that when you type “my name + blog” I’ll get a few more hits on Google.

Wait a minute. If he writes a blog, I’m going to kill myself.

Three things:

1. A friend of mine recently broke up with a woman he was dating.

2. Said woman is an FBI agent.

3. I predict high-tech surveillance in the near future.

With all the talk of bringing this nation together, I would like to suggest this.

We should all participate. It has potential to be the great equalizer. I mean, when you look like that, who can tell if you're a Republican or a Democrat?

Well, I voted. I went down just minutes after the polls opened and had to wait in line for over a half an hour. I didn't mind though; having that many people vote can only be a good thing.

In other news, I bought a very large pomegranate and I intend to eat it.

Among other things, I have been spending too much time playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. However, the point of this post isn't that I am sick, twisted and juvenile, but rather that I learned something valuable from this video game. Okay, other than how to pop caps in someone's ass with my AK, I didn't learn something from the video game itself, but I did learn something indirectly.

The other morning I was watching The Today Show and Katie Couric was doing one of those opposing viewpoint interviews about Grand Theft Auto. Did I ever mention that Katie and I once shared a moment? I think she was flirting with me, but I suppose that's a story for another time.

Anyway, one of the guests was an editor for Maxim magazine or some other sort of this-is-a-male-fantasy-magazine-but-we-don't-do-nudes publication. He was proposing that this game was for adults, not for kids, parents should be paying attention to what their kids are doing, and blah, blah, blah.

True, but boring as relates to this story.

The other guest was a lawyer in the vein of a I'm-going-to-sue-you-because-Ozzy-made-my-kid-bite-the-head-off-our-pet-bat litigator. He proposed that this game was awful, it sets a bad example, that kids were able to buy it even though it has a rating for "Mature Audiences" only, blah, blah, blah.

Also true, but boring as relates to this story.

What really struck me was when the lawyer started citing a case example of where some teenagers went out and ran over someone with their car and blamed it on being inspired by a video game. The magazine editor shot back his predictable response and THEN...

The lawyer said, "Oh yeah? Tell that to the families of the dead people."

This is pure genius.

I mean, what can you say after something like that? This is the perfectly crafted retort. No one can deny that the families of the dead people are suffering, and why would you want to cause them any more pain? You really can't go against families of dead people. You wouldn't want to look like a total ass would you?

I've decided that I'm going to use this phrase in everyday life. It could be helpful in any situation. Think of the possibilities...

Snotty parking attendant: Sir, you can't park here.
Me: Oh yeah? Tell that to the families of the dead people!

Potential employer: I'm sorry, but we've decided to go with someone else.
Me: Oh yeah? Tell that to the families of the dead people!

Office manager at my doctor's office: Let's see... The next available appointment is in three months.
Me: Oh yeah? Tell that to the families of the dead people!

Girl behind the counter at McDonald's: I'm sorry, but we're out of Filet-O-Fish.
Me: Oh yeah? Tell that to the families of the dead people!
Girl behind the counter at McDonald's: Sir, if you really want a Filet-O-Fish, you could try the McDonald's down the street.
Me: Well, give me a McRib then.

ATM Machine: Insufficient Funds.
Me: Oh yeah? Tell that to the families of the dead people!

Upon further review, it doesn't work in every instance, but it could help you out of a jam. At any rate, I offer you this newfound knowledge. Please use it wisely.