This morning I flew out of O'Hare. As I was sitting in the terminal an announcement was made that Homeland Security had raised the threat level to orange. What is it usually at? I thought to myself. Is that normal?
I started thinking about how I'd run Homeland Security if I was in charge. For starters I'd do away with the colors and change the threat level labels to more memorable things, like they do in parking garages, so it's easier to remember. Maybe something with musicians. When the threat level is down we'd be at John Mayer - he's pretty mellow. The highest would be Metalica. Maybe Rammstein. That'd be bad news.
I'd also consider a national security campaign called either "Safen Up America" or "Safen Up, America!" One is a gentle and friendly punch in the arm. The other is a stern command. It's a tough choice.
I'm still in New Jersey and I'll be here for a few days. Stay tuned.
I can tell by the stats that you're all reading my blog. I know you're out there. You're just quiet. I can respect that. But in a week I'm giving you the chance to speak up.
Starting May 7th I'll be having Guest Blogger Week. What exactly is Guest Blogger Week? I'm so glad you asked.
For one week I'll have nothing but guest bloggers. Some will be friends who I'm asking to write something. Others will be people I don't know at all but just want to write for a new blogging audience.
If you're in the latter group, drop me an email at guestblogger@bergwithfries.com and tell me why YOU want to be a guest blogger for me. Along with your blog entry for me (pretty much whatever you want to write about, within limits) I'll include a tiny bio on you if you like, as well as a link to your blog or myspace page or whatever you feel like sharing.
So get emailing! Guest Blogger Week starts in just over a week.
The other day I was walking down Barry ave when I saw a house for sale. And what agency was selling that house? Berg Properties.
To make matters worse, the website for Berg Properties is List with Berg. List with Berg?! Are they kidding me?! Do they not know who I am?! Do they not know about Berg with Fries, and my penchant for making lists!
...I suddenly understand Spike Lee's rage when Spike TV was announced. Irrational? Sure. But it's there nonetheless.
Remember when I blogged about a week ago urging you all to go vote for Byron's button over at the Busy Beaver Button co.? Well the results came out this morning and Byron won!
His winning button will appear in Button-o-Matic machines around the country, in addition to Byron receiving 200 free buttons with his design on them.
Go check out his button standing on the Gold Metal platform here!
This morning at the gym a television is playing an infomercial for a DVD set of The Dean Martin Variety Show.
They show Dean singing with Frank Sinatra. They show Dean doing a skit with Lucille Ball. They show Dean lounging around with beautiful women.
Then they show Dean doing a duet with Louis Armstrong. As this is at the gym I can't hear the TV, I can only read the closed captioning. As they sing, the closed captioning reads:
Louis: Oh, when the saints go marching in.
Dean: Oh, when the saints go marching in.
Louis: [scatting]
Dean: Lord how I want to be in that number.
Louis: [scatting]
Dean: When the saints go marching in.
Louis: [scatting]
The language of Starbucks can be complicated, as Wikipedia points out. Pay attention and you'll be fine:
The lingo used at Starbucks is designed for efficient communication between employees and with customers while ordering drinks or "marking the cups." There is a prescribed order in which to say each modifier, ending with the name of the drink itself. Ordering a drink may begin with whether or not the drink is iced, whether it is decaffeinated, the number of shots of espresso (if different from the standard recipe for that drink), the size of the cup, any flavoring added, the kind of milk requested, (eg. non-fat milk, organic milk, breve, or soy milk), any additional customizations (e.g. no foam, extra hot) and finally the name of the beverage.
For example, the order of an iced latte, grande, with vanilla syrup, decaf, with whipped cream, nonfat milk, and an extra shot, would be called as an "Iced Decaf Triple Grande Vanilla Non-fat with whip Latte." In other words, you simply say iced if it is a cold beverage, or nothing if it is hot, which is default, and then read down the list of modifiers listed on the side of the cup.
If not otherwise specified, drinks are made hot, with espresso and whole milk (2% in some cities). The basis for all "bar" or espresso-based drinks is the latte, which consists of espresso, steamed milk, and a dollop of foamed milk. From there exist variations such as the cappuccino (with espresso, and a heavy cap of foam), and the caramel macchiato (with vanilla syrup, steamed milk, a 1/2 inch layer of foamed milk which is added so that it can "hold" the shots of espresso poured over top, and the caramel sauce in a cross-hatch pattern).
Kid: Are you a teenager or a dad?
Me: Excuse me?
Kid: I said, are you a teenager or a dad?
Me: Well, um, I guess I'm somewhere inbetween.
Kid: Oh. (pause) 'Cause you look like a teenager.
Me: Well I'm a bit older than that. But nowhere near being a dad.
Kid: (he nods in understanding)
Me: I'm glad we understand each other. Here, have a french fry.
I gave a facelift to my friend Stephanie's blog a while ago. In return she offered to pay me. "Your money's no good," I told her, but she insisted on doing something so I told her she could buy me a bottle of gin. Hendricks, to be specific. She agreed.
Yesterday, when we met up for our gin exchange, Stephanie whipped out a small envelope. Gin couldn't possibly fit in there, could it? I wondered to myself.
"I decided not to aid in your alcoholism and got you a gift certificate to Borders instead." I looked blankly from her, to the envelope, and back. "Oh," I replied. "Well I didn't like the idea of you getting drunk from the gin and passing out in an alley," she told me.
"But if I'm drinking my own gin then I'd be at home, and if I'm at home why would I leave just so I could pass out in an alley?"
"Maybe if you had to go to that weird store across the street from your place," she offered. "Weird place?" I asked. "It's a White Hen!"
"Either way," she said, "I didn't want to aid in your alcoholism." She had no problem, however, aiding in the responsibilites left unattended by my mother.
I always felt like my real mother wasn't Jewish enough on me. Steph is picking up the slack.
Last night I got picked up by a cab driver who seemed particularly talkative and saucy. What gives? I thought to myself, as I wasn't really in the mood for someone talking to me. Until I realized who he was.
I was in the cab of Ray St. Ray, the singing cab driver [who?].
As it turned out, Ray and I kinda already knew each other. About 5 years ago I lived in a building up in Lincoln Square and about a month or two before I moved out, Ray St. Ray had moved in. Ray informed me that the ol' building hadn't really changed much. I informed him that I was kind of drunk.
"Well do you wanna hear a song?" he asked. I shrugged my shoulders. "Sure."
Then Ray St. Ray started singing and harmonizing, giving me a song that he said, "Fits your situation perfectly." And it was actually a pretty good. I still have bits and pieces of it stuck in my head.
I got to thinking after I realized the good mood that Ray's singing had put me in. Maybe the world should have more singing cab drivers. Scratch that. Definitely the world should have more singing cab drivers.
Oh, Ray. Maybe our paths will cross again in another five years.
Today at the gym I was buying a bottle of water and my smalltalk went awry.
Me: How are you this morning?
Woman Selling Me a Bottle of Water: I've had a little too much coffee and now I'm zonked out. You know how that is?
Me: Well I don't drink coffee.
WSMBW: That's smart.
Me: It has nothing to do with self-control. I just don't like the taste.
WSMBW: Well it's bad for you, supposedly.
Me: It's bad for you, definitely.
WSMBW: I read a study in some magazine saying that people who drink 5 or more cups of coffee a week have a higher sex drive.
Me: Well that explains that.
This morning I noticed a man walking down the street, pushing his grocery getter. Inside the getter was six 12-packs of Diet Coke and a 12-pack of toliet paper.
So you know that graphic/web design business that Byron and I run? Boys from Jupiter? Right.
Well after digging through the archives the other night I found an old film reel from the 1950's chronicaling the history of Boys from Jupiter. Turns out we have more history than I thought. Hmm.
Check out the film on our website here, or just view it below.
So Byron, my pal and partner in fivefoldink and Boys from Jupiter has entered himself in a button contest. What's a button contest? you may be wondering.
Well the Busy Beaver Button co. is hosting a contest where people submit their button designs and then you, the public, get to vote on which design they like best. The winner gets a lot of free stuff (I forget the specifics at the moment), plus the glory of know that they have a winning button.
Byron's button looks like so:
So go vote for him at busybeaver.net/soandso. It'll ensure that you don't have that nagging feeling: Wasn't there something I was supposed to do today? Like vote for somebody or something?
04.12.07
You've Got The Brain, I've Got The Braun...
Yesterday I was at Micah's, using his top/bottom 2-in-1 washer/dryer. I load my clothes into the washer but mistakenly hit "start" on the dryer. It begins to tumble loudly. I hit more buttons and turn knobs but the dryer won't turn off. Finally, giving up, I walk into the livingroom where Micah is.
"I turned on the dryer by mistake and I can't get it to turn off," I tell him.
Micah looks at me like I'm an idiot. "Um...just open the dryer door."
It's a good thing I've got my looks, 'cause lately my smarts have been failing me.
Yesterday I'm waiting for the bus, standing in silence next to an old man for about 10 minutes. Out of nowhere he says, "How are you today?" "Fine," I respond.
"Do you believe in Jesus?" he asks. "No," I tell him.
"Why not?" he asks. I shrug my shoulders. "I'm Jewish."
He gives me a disgusted look, stands up and walks away.
"Okay, so it's about these two detectives. One is named McGonigal Jones and the other is named Alfred McGonigal. The name of the show is McGonigal & McGonigal. And they, like, solve crimes and stuff."
Kristine processes. "Uh huh. I don't think I'd watch it." I ask her why not. "It just doesn't sound that good," she says.
"Did I explain the part about how they both have the same name, but for one person it's their first name and for another it's their last name? Because I think that's really what sells it."
In honor of today being Easter, enjoy a passage of David Sedaris' book Me Talk Pretty One Day.
...The Moroccan student interrupted, shouting, "Excuse me, but what's an Easter?
It would seem that despite having grown up in a Muslim country, she would have heard it mentioned once or twice, but no. "I mean it," she said. "I have no idea what you people are talking about."
The teacher called upon the rest of us to explain.
The Poles led the charge to the best of their ability. "It is," said one, "a party for the little boy of God who call his self Jesus and...oh, shit." She faltered and her fellow countryman came to her aid.
"He call his self Jesus and then he die one day on two...morsels of...lumber."
The rest of the class jumped in, offering bits of information that would have given the pope an aneurysm.
"He die one day and then go to above of my head to live with your father."
"He weared of himself the long hair and after he die, the first day he come back here for to say hello to the peoples."
"He nice, the Jesus."
"He make the good things, and on the Easter we be sad because somebody makes him dead today."
Part of the problem had to with vocabulary. Simple nouns such as cross and resurrection were beyond our grasp, let alone such complicated reflective phrases as "to give of yourself your only begotten son." Faced with the challenge of explaining the cornerstone of Christianity, we did what any self-respecting group of people might do. We talked about food instead.
"Easter is a party for to eat of the lamb," the Italian nanny explained. "One too may eat of the chocolate."
"And who brings the chocolate?" the teach asked.
I knew the word, so I raised my hand, saying, "The rabbit of Easter. He bring of the chocolate."
"A rabbit?" The teacher, assuming I'd used the wrong word, positioned her index fingers on top of her head, wriggling them as though they were ears. "You mean one of these? A rabbit rabbit?"
"Well, sure," I said. "He come in the night when one sleep on a bed. With a hand he have a basket and food."
The teacher sighed and shook her head. As far as she was concerned, I had just explained everything that was wrong with my country. "No, no," she said. "Here in France the chocolate is brought by a big bell that flies in from Rome."
I called for a time-out. "But how do the bell know where you live?"
"Well," she said, "how does a rabbit?"
It was a decent point, but at least a rabbit has eyes. That's a start. Rabbits move from place to place, while most bells can only go back and forth - and they can't even do that on their own power. On top of that, the Easter Bunny had character. He's someone you'd like to meet and shake hands with. A bell has all the personality of a cast-iron skillet. It's like saying that come Christmas, a magic dustpan flies in from the North Pole, led by eight flying cinder blocks. Who wants to stay up all night so they can see a bell?
Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris' account of his time living in Paris, can be bought here on Amazon.
So I haven't blogged in a few days. How come? some of you may be asking. Do you hate us now? Have you been deported? The answer is no, and no. I've started a business. And man, oh man, has it taken up a lot of my time.
Byron (my good friend and partner over at fivefoldink) and I have started up a web design/graphic design boutique. We're calling it Boys from Jupiter and we're now open for business, kicking ass and taking names. Or, y'know, designing websites and taking down client information. Same thing.
You can check us out at boysfromjupiter.com, browse through our portfolio, and then hire us to build your website or do graphic design for your business. Yeah, we're that good.
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