... And Carry a Big Shtick

For some reason or another this tale has been rattling around my brain lately. So I thought I would share it with you. Aren't you lucky?

When the Girl and I went on our first date, we hardly knew each other at all. We had just met randomly and had about 1.3 phone conversations. Such strangers were we that I didn't even know her last name. So I suppose that meant that we shouldn't struggle for things to talk about. We met at a decent-but-not-overly-nice resaurant and sat down to have some dinner. We were both clearly pretty nervous in that "I don't know this person" sort of way. So we concentrated on the menus and exchanged some chitchat about food and such. Once that was out of the way, I thought we were in desperate need of an ice breaker. So I said, "Look, I know I don't know you all that well, but I feel like I really need to ask you a very personal question. I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable, and you don't have to answer if you don't want, but I just have to ask."

"Umm. OK, I guess. That sounds scary. Should I be scared?" she asked.

"I'll leave that up to you to decide, but I feel like I really need to ask," I replied.

"OK."

"What's your last name?"

Now, you may be absolutely rolling your eyes into the middle of next week and groaning. Or you may be smiling and thinking about how disarming and charming that would be. That second reaction is more of what I was shooting for, but I would have taken the first one. I just wanted to calm some nerves. Luckily for me, the Girl leaned more toward the charming response, laughed, and told me the answer. It seemed to work, too, because we seemed to have a much easier time of it after that. That particular exchange might not really have been the key, but this is my story, and that's how I'm calling it.

Recently, the Girl and I attended a vow renewal ceremony for the main particpants of the first post-college wedding I attended, in celebration of their first 10 years of marriage. (That may deserve a story of its own at some point, but not right now. Suffice it to say that you know a relationship has strong underpinnings when, upon receiving a single red rose from the guy in question after one of their first outings together -- not a date, though -- the girl in question said, "You are nauseatingly sweet.") My college roomie, who knows me as well as perhaps anyone on the planet, was also at this ceremony, and it was the first time he and the Girl met each other. While he was chatting her up and getting to know her, it somehow came out that I didn't know her last name when we went on our first date. Upon hearing that, he looked at me and immediately said, "You asked her a very personal question." It was half statement, half question. He was pretty sure of the answer, but he needed to verify it.

So apparently I have a shtick. Are you really surprised?

Public Service Announcement

Given that my gums are holding their ground about as well as the French hold Paris in wartime, I decided to give Crest Pro Health toothpaste a try based on my dentist's recommendation. The dentist suggested it would fight against any unpleasant sensitivity while still doing a good job battling the nasties that lead to other dental problems. I looked at the stuff's packaging, and it read pretty well. The box stopped just sort of suggesting that it would give me the power to save the world while pleasuring multiple women at the same time. So I bought it in preparation for the day my old tube of normal Crest toothpaste ran out.

Today was that day. So I busted out the tasty-sounding Clean Mint paste and prepared for a heretofore never-experienced session of teeth cleaning. And I have to say that it was most certainly like nothing I had ever experienced before. That toothpaste may very well kick the ass of any tartar-, plaque-, halitosis-, or gingivitis-causing bacteria while whitening my teeth and eliminating all traces of sensitivity. Hell, it might very well just push those gums back to the front lines. I'll never know, though, because of one important piece of information that is suspiciously absent from the box or the website: the stuff tastes like lukewarm ass. Slathered in hot sick. Sandwiched between two pieces of chilled ear wax. So I think I'll be making a run to the store today to buy some of the old toothpaste. I'd rather risk the sensitive teeth (which I really haven't experienced much yet) than have a twice daily lukewarm ass and hot sick on ear wax sandwich.

I just thought you should know. That is all.

Your 2 Cents

As Steven Wright (or perhaps it was George Carlin) once said, "It's a penny for your thoughts, but you have to put your two cents in. Somebody's making a penny." Well, you may have more trouble living up to your end of the bargain starting Monday, May 14th, as the U.S. Postal Service will be raising the price of stamps by two cents. [Aside: I love this statement from their website: " The new price structure will create a more efficient mail system so that the overall cost of using the mail is as low as possible." What a bunch of twaddle! What the new price structure will do, among other things, is make first class stamps more expensive.]

As far as I'm concerned, they're bitches. Not because the price of stamps is going up. That kind of makes sense. Things get more expensive all the time, and, to be fair, we can send a letter anywhere in the country for very little money. Not that we want to, because, being fair yet again, who the hell sends letters anymore, aside from grandmothers giving their grandchildren $12 birthday checks?

Still, once in a great while, I have to mail something, and a book of stamps typically lasts me more than a year. What I don't like is that the new price structure will require me to buy a strange number of two cent stamps that I will then have to remember to put on mailings. I should totally be able to trade my stamps in for some sort of non-priced first class stamp. Sure I would still have to go to the post office to get them, but at least I wouldn't have to remember to put on two different stamps to get the right total postage. Or, there should be some sort of grace period in which my old 39 cent stamps are still recognized as valid. Hmm. I guess that would mean that the same problem would crop up at the end of the grace period. So the trading in is better.

Really, they should just not print stamps with prices on them. They should all just be first class letter, postcard, etc., and they should be valid until the end of time. Apparently, someone actually came up with this idea and implemented: forever stamps. That doesn't really help me with my old stamps, but yadambetcha that I'm not buying any other types of stamps from now on.

You have a good day. I'm going to count out a bunch of pennies to pay for my new two cent stamps.

Technically Accurate

Someone at work just sent this to me, and I had to share it. Take a look at Google's directions from NYC to Paris. While you're looking, take a look at look at instructions 23 and 24. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Even you Iron Man types out there might have trouble with this one. However, I have to admit that, if you can follow them, these directions will certainly get you there.

Safety First

I know I haven't posted here in a very long time, and I have no real excuse. I had intended to write a detailed follow up to talk more about my experience at the Masters, but I never got around to it. It seems a bit late to do so now. However, I know I need to get back on the horse here, and I reckon, if Jen can do it after about 4 years of not posting, I can, too.

In the car on Saturday morning, I had a bit of a blast from the past in hearing "The Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats. I've always felt a strong sense of affection for that song. Maybe it's because of the video, in which the singer is wandering around a countryside that is remindful of feudal England, singing this song with the word "dance" in the title and hinting strongly, if perhaps not quite proving, that he is completely incapable of dancing. On top of that, the song itself doesn't seem particularly danceable. (Yes, I said "danceable." It's early, and I don't want to hear any shit about it.) In general, I'd say the song is deliciously atrocious, like so many 80's songs. Also, the video prominently features a midget. What's not to like?

But I didn't start this post just to laud a delightfully crappy song. Instead, I wanted to draw your attention to its lyrics. I had to look them up because of one particular phrase: "We can dance, we can dance / Everybody look at your hands / We can dance, we can dance / Everybody's taking the chance." Can someone please tell me why we need to look at our hands and what the fuck that has to do with dancing? Also, what chance is everybody taking here? Does this song come from some strange parallel universe where it's extremely dangerous for a person to let his gaze come to rest on his hands?

These are the questions that fill my brain after hearing that song. Have a good Tuesday.