Drifting off to ponder the critically acclaimed film, Dumb and Dumber of 1994, a question arose regarding Mr. Lloyd Christmas. Lloyd and Harry arrive in Aspen after an eventful road trip via Mutt-Cuts van and small moped with great excitement. They see men and women walking about in overly-tight ski attire and start getting stoked. First order of business, deliver the briefcase Mary left at the airport in Providence. While Lloyd begins the guessing game to remember Mary’s last name, a guess comes across and, at the time, seemed normal, but looking back now, is quite absurd. “Swim, Swammi, Slippy, Slappy, Swenson, Swanson…”
WAIT A SECOND!
Slappy? Really? What I am wondering, friends, is what kind of events took place during Lloyd’s life that would lead him to believe anyone would have a last name of “Slappy?” When you look at the actress in the film (Lauren Holly), does she look like a Slappy? Is it the red hair that makes him think she may have the same last name as an underappreciated clown? I simply cannot, and do not want to imagine how to Lloyd, this could be one of the possibilities. Even “Slippy”, which is almost as goofy, could be a real last name. I think something that could have rocketed this scene to comedic orbit would have been a quick pan over to Harry immediately after Lloyd says Slappy to show him doing a slight head tilt and nod. Nothing could make him seem dumber, than by agreeing with Lloyd’s lunacy on the guessing of Mary’s last name.
Have you seen The Hangover? It was a movie that came out last summer (2009) – comedy – staring a number of talented actors. You know the one, bachelor party, waking up not remembering anything, Mike Tyson was in it? Okay, good, you saw it.
Well let me be the first, or maybe sixth or seventh to tell you, they are making a sequel. That much is official and as to the plot, only director Todd P. knows that. However, it seems that more information recently leaked through Phil (Bradley Cooper), I like to use actors’ character names. I still refer to Tom Hanks, no matter what the movie, as Forest Gump. Any how, Phil apparently told some clown with a microphone and greasy hair that the movie would be taking place in Thailand.
I don’t know if there is any truth to this, but am pleasantly surprised that they didn’t double dip and go back to Vegas. What a waste of potential that would have been. I, like the majority of the developed world, will be looking forward to this film immensely!
Photo: courtesy of Google, Ed Helms and Todd Phillips on the set of The Hangover
I am trying to understand a recent development in my sleeping position repertoire; recent being the last couple of months. I lay on my back with one straight leg and the other leg bent, knee facing out, obviously, and foot planted flat up against the inside of the straight legs knee. It’s flamingo style, ladies and gentlemen, and it is sweeping my bedroom. First, I thought I was the only one doing this other than larger than normal pink birds. So I made it known to my fiancé that she be aware that she is lying in the same bed as a human flamingo, only to hear that she has been doing the same thing!
Striking friends! Two flamingo-style sleepers, crossed paths in the remote village of Vermillion, SD only later to find that they share a rare, but extremely special trait.
Not for one minute did I ever consider the history behind the right to keep and bear arms as stated within the Second Amendment. I understood the reservation of freedom as allowing registered firearms to be maintained by individuals for sport and for personal protection. Protection, to me, meant from unruly neighbors. It meant from robbers, assailants, or anyone else trying to take advantage of me or my family and friends. But today, my uninformed understanding of this amendment to our constitution has been replaced.
We have not been assured the right to bear arms to protect us against fellow citizens – but rather – in the unfathomable event of our government taking tyrannical blows against its own people. The statute protects us against our own government. Which then begs the question, why are automatic weapons not allowed to be included in our (American people) arsenals? We are allowed pea-shooters, while the entity we are to fortify against wields rockets? I have a hard time understanding the restraints our government places upon its people.
I believe in a small, hardly-involved form of government, and not just at the federal level. I want a small fed, a smaller state, and an even smaller local government presiding over our lives. We may live in a “free” country by definition, but we are far from self-dependent. Citizens can delay payment on their taxes for a couple of months and be sited with fines. But when the Government holds our tax refunds, not to mention increases the rate 4-months before tax time, because they need it to buy more sh*t we don’t need, they see no penalty. What is the interest rate they will pay on the loans we have given them? The California State Government forgot to mention that in the paperwork we read through and agreed to.
Wait a minute, did you see the paperwork? Did you see a list of terms and agreements that you signed and dated? None of us did because there was no such thing. We were informed a month in advance that a greater percentage was going to be taken from our wages to cover the mistakes of the state government. We put the wrong people in office and are paying for it. When these dollars will ever show back up in our pockets, we do not know. Will they ever? I am thinking not. So in the mean time, I would like to request the SCAR-H full-auto be removed from the do-not-sell list for the non-felon US population.
Here is my thing on sharks. I could spend an unnecessarily extended period of time going into some obscure fact-rant on sharks and my experience with them (none), but I cut my finger this morning, slowing my wpm down dramatically.
To be honest, I’m worried. I am not worried that I will break my surfboard tomorrow. I am not worried that the water will be cold. I am not worried that the car will be cramped with a 9’8” board inside, nor am I even concerned with the number of people I will be competing with in the lineup for a wave.
What I am worried about, is this cut on my finger. I reached into my suit case this morning (have not unpacked since returning from Vegas last weekend) for some aftershave (modern people call it cologne) and ended up cutting a big flap in my index finger. The cut was from my face razor, it bled like, not a water hose, not a leaky faucet, I guess maybe like that classic Donald Duck cartoon where the faucet barely drips, but is super annoying, and keeps him up at night.
So when I get to the waves tomorrow, adorn my wetsuit and booties, and venture out into the cold, plankton festival of an ocean my mind will be on my finger. It won’t be wondering how my brand new surf board will perform, which is where it should be. It will, unfortunately, be dwelling waist-deep in reaction techniques when Whitey inevitably hones in on my location. You see, the problem with the Pacific is that it is not cold enough to deter sharks, but it is also not warm enough to gross them out. Another thought to keep in mind is that when I say “sharks”, I am talking about Great Whites. I capitalized the “g” and “w” out of respect, so maybe that will be all the luck I need?
So here is my thing on sharks. I’m out in the water getting tasty barrels, or just hanging on tight to a clean right, and have an open wound. It’s small, and not bleeding. But enough blunt trauma, such as grabbing my rails to tight, will release the flood gates. I am not sure how much blood the shark needs to smell in order to warrant an investigation, but I don’t think it is much – especially when it is accompanied by a floundering object in a black wetsuit (i.e. a seal/me).
Shark smells the blood, he thinks to himself, “I am a lazy-ass shark, I can’t catch any fish today because I am super tired from yesterday, where which I was also lazy. So instead of playing the game respectfully and working my tail off (fake pun) to get a bite, I am just going to take a bite out of this thing that is already bleeding.” I quoted the thought only so you can tell that it is the lazy shark talking and not me.
These guys are lazy! If they can get a bite of something that is average to bad tasting, like a human, they will do it rather than fighting for something that they might actually enjoy. The King of the Ocean refuses to go out of his or her way to earn that awesome dorsal fin and extra rows of teeth – and this is what bothers me. This is what worries me; laziness.
Yes friends, it is official. Last Saturday I bought a fantastic long board surfboard from a very sincere gentleman of the Sunset District in San Francisco. I saw some photos, researched the specs and even checked a couple reviews prior to letting the seller know I was interested. That’s what one means when he or she says, “did their homework”, I am assuming?
Well as it turns out, I may very well have been writing a thesis with how much “homework” I have done over the past couple years on surfboards. I certainly don’t claim to be any kind of expert, but I do believe I can tell a good one from a bad. This be a good one. Johnny Rice, the legendary Native American shaper out of Santa Cruz, California produced the mold for this big fella and passed it along to Surftech to do the dirty work. The result is a 9’8” Tufflite deluxe, ready for long, slow point breaks and even allowing for some steeper walls and faster beach breaks thanks to a narrow pintail.
I expect that JR, or as he has recently been named, Baloo, will perform really well next weekend in Santa Cruz. I chose Baloo because the board reminds me of that big blue-gray bear from the Jungle Book. The board is big, blue and exudes an aura of laidback fun. Not that hard work won’t be involved, but these will be labors of love.
Looking at the board and knowing that I can’t get it into the water until the weekend should be a challenge in its self - personal day, please!
A review of the boards performance will be posted as soon as I return from the beach, but until then, enjoy some dialog between the board and some of the other stationery devices on our deck:
Bird Cage: look at this guy, plastic, shiny, waxy, it’s like, pick a material and be consistent!
Table: oh come on now, Birdcage. Just because he isn’t all rusty…
Weber Q Grill: hold on there just a minute Bird Cage, it looks like you have been in Corbett for the last 15 years considering your lack of technological know-how. That center fin isn’t just some plastic cut-out. That there, sir, is carbon fiber. See the gray and black weave? Ballin!
Bird Cage: okay gang up on the old man. I am pretty sure I was keeping birds safe from cats before that long board shape was even thought up.
Table: unless you are 45 years old, I am pretty sure we can disregard your last comment.
Cactus: Ballin! Just be careful putting that thing on the deck, remember, we don’t have very long, or very thick roots. One side-swipe from Baloo and I’m mince meat!
Weber Q Grill: don’t even worry about it Cactus, Kyle is careful. Remember when you got that crazy growth that turned into a flower? You were the bell of the ball around these here deck parts!
Cactus: yup, yup, yup…you saw the photographs, right? I mean, common, a cactus, with a 6-inch protruding flower; pretty nice!
Weber Q Grill stand (aka Rubbermaid container): is he ever going to get the official stand for you, Weber Q grill? I’m squished!
*Rubbermaid container’s pleas are ignored as usual.
Baloo: “lookin’ for love in all the wrong plac…” oh, pardon my singing new friends, how’s everyone doing?
*general rumbling of greetings from the porch items.
Baloo: I’m new guy, Johnny Rice 9-8. Some know me as The Performer (model name). You guys can use Baloo though, bosses orders.
Bird Cage: wait just one minute are you saying you’re the boss, and that you are ordering us to call you Baloo?
Baloo: quite the contrary little cage guy. Those words were handed down from Kyle – I just repeat.
Bird Cage: yep, repeat. Just like there are about a million boards out there just like you. I’ve seen your kind before. I’ve changed hands too. I know what it is like to no longer be needed by someone…and it sucks! That’s how you got here, right? Someone didn’t want you any more? Not enough room for you? Too old? Smells like bird %$*#?
Baloo: ha ha, cool your jets Cage. For number one, no, I don’t smell like bird poop, seeing as how I never acted as a home for one. Secondly, Joe wanted to keep me, but he had two other boards, a longer one than me and a shorter, there was just no need for a mid-range. And that is why he offered me up on Craigslist. Spread the wealth, you know? Let someone else have a go on the big blue rocket!
Table: sure of his value, but down to Earth. I’m liking this guy. Good to meet you, Baloo.
*Baloo winks at Table with his leash loop.
Vintage Water Skis: heyo! Finally something custom on the deck other than us and this beer pong table. What it is, Baloo? Any chance on putting in a good word for us to get our wood refinished? The binding on the slalom ski could use a little work too.
Binding on slalom ski: (coughing horribly) p-p-please, anything will help.
Baloo: of course, of course; you guys are family!
Table: see, look at this guy, classy all the way from the nose to the tail.
Bird Cage: I hear ya’, Table. Baloo, you’re a good guy, important guy. Welcome to the fam!
Has this happened to you? You have been introduced to someone through a friend or family member, only to be reintroduced multiple times thereafter? It’s hard to decide what the problem is too, because one of two things could be going on:
A) The person who does not recall your previous interactions is inconsiderate and self-absorbed.
Or
B) The interaction was so basic, so entry level and unimportant, that the other person could not possibly be expected to remember you.
The first thing I want to do is blame the other person for being a selfish donkey. But then I look at the situation as if I were a bystander during the interaction. What did we say to each other? Was I wearing something cool? Did I compliment anything about this person, or, did I offend this person? All things to be considered when trying to decide whether I feel I deserve to be remembered or not.
I guess I better give a real-life example; names have been removed for dignities to remain intact. Through a friend, I have met this character a minimum of four times by now. Some of those interactions have only consisted of about a paragraph worth of words. One of them was at a themed party where we both commented, at length, on each others choice of costume. Not long ago, guy shows up at a social gathering of previously mentioned mutual friend. Friend: Hey, have you met ****? Guy leans in, “No I haven’t, I’m ****”.
Mind you, I already don’t really care for this person, but cordial is my middle name (sometimes).
So was this guy the donkey, or was I no more interesting than that little brush thing that comes with men’s facial hair grooming kits? We may never know, but it is something worth thinking about. What do you bring to introductions to help people remember you? Is it something we can consciously do, or is it equally up to the other person to decide what they want to remember and what they want to disregard? Other people’s interest is out of our control, so we might as well peacock and hope for the best!
The other day at Target, I saw a girl that I believe got trapped in 1999 and just got released back into present day. For number one, she looked confused. Confusion, as we all know, is a common trait to bear when transported quickly between different eras. But that is not what alerted me of the fact that she didn’t belong. My spider senses went berserk when she reached for a can of soup from the shelf and her wrist became exposed. There, resting snugly on her eerily white flesh was a knit bracelet bearing the letters, “WWJD”. Immediately, I went into Robert Langdon mode, trying to proof-positive my first aware sighting of a time traveler.
Shoes: generic brand. This made things a lot harder as this is a classic sign of many things, just ask Forrest Gump. But the model told a different story – clogs. Clog-style shoes of all different materials were very popular in the late 90’s, early 2000’s. Not to say that they aren’t comfortable, or look bad, just more evidence of a rift existing.
Hair: straight down, square-layered – the Rachel! The Rachel is a haircut made famous by a television character on the program Friends. Friends aired during primetime television from 1994 to 2004. This haircut was from the late 90’s. Things were getting weird!
Sometimes brands are better indicators of era-based styles than the styles themselves. I was desperately trying to make out a name on something, but was coming up dry and probably being less sleuth-like than Langdon. The pants and shirt were relatively timeless; boot-cut jeans, conservative top with ¾ sleeves. Shoot!
But we’ve got the bracelet, the haircut and the shoes in our corner. Now, what’s in the basket? Not sure if this would tell me anything, but unwilling to miss a clue, I peered into the red with gray handled basket. Some general hygiene products, a couple frozen dinners, the CD “Millennium” by the Backstreet Boys…haha NO! I wish – that would seal the deal. There was in fact, nothing in the cart to further prove my theory.
Feeling like I needed more than three affirmatives to prove this woman a time traveler, I grabbed my coconut rice and checked out.
