Be The Change You Want To See In The World

I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to me:

I go into a burrito place.  There’s a “regular” burrito and a more expensive “super” burrito.  A super burrito = a regular burrito plus cheese and sour cream and guacamole.  The menu sez that it costs the same amount to add cheese to any item as it costs to add sour cream to any item.  I order a super burrito with no cheese and extra sour cream.  They charge me an additional fee for the extra sour cream.

It’s infuriating!  Do they think I’m stupid?  Or are they just shamelessly fucking me because they know that they can, because they know that I know that every other burrito joint in town is gonna do the same goddamn thing?

And I presume that folks who order a super burrito with no sour cream and extra cheese are treated as shabbily as me.

It’s unacceptable.  It’s an affront to consumers’ intelligence and an encroachment into their purses, and there's no excuse.  Perhaps (maybe, just possibly) I could understand if the menus were to clearly state that there was an extra charge for substitutions (I’d still be pissed, but perhaps I could understand), but they rarely do (and even when they do, they never even try to explain how/why substitutions necessarily warrant an extra charge).

So I’ve decided to do something about it…introducing the Burrito Justice Forum.  The idea is to provide a space where “extra cheese, no cream” people can hook up with “extra cream, no cheese” people and save a bundle on super burritos by going to the burrito shop together and asking the burrito-maker to put one burrito’s cheese/cream into the other burrito and the other burrito’s cream/cheese into the first burrito.

If you live in or near Oakland (or if you plan to visit), simply use the comment section of this blog entry to post your name, your phone number, when you plan to be eating burritos in the Oakland area, and whether you are an “extra cheese, no cream” person or an “extra cream, no cheese” person.  Then let the market work its magic.

At the risk of turning this whole enterprise into a complicated and unmanageable mind-fuck, please feel free to post your guacamole preferences as well.

Your Face Is Hella NC-17, Dude

You can mock and/or execrate his masochistic tendencies, but you gotta respect his dedication.  This fucker really knows how to commit to something.  This is passion, misguided as it may be.

So props to you, kid.  Kudos for doing things your own way.  You clearly have a will of your own and you know how to resist outside pressures.  A tip o' my hat to you and if you ever ask me to buy you a drink, I'll buy you two.

Still, what a fuckin' nutjobber, right?  This is disturbing.  This is an insult to human bodies everywhere.  He obviously has a right to unsettle me by modifying his face into this obscene monstrosity, but why would he do so?  This is just terrible.  This is a brutal assault on my sensibilities.  I'm just tryin' to live my life here, and then here comes this guy.  C'mon, dude!  Wtf?  I don't want to see this.  How am I supposed to pretend I didn't see this?  Your face scars my psyche.  You should need a license for that shit.  How many times have you seen Hellraiser?

And, btw, I'm totally assuming this guy is a sex pervert.  I figure the chances are, like, 100%.  I mean, how could he not be a pervert...how would he ever get laid?  You'd pretty much have to be a perv.  Of course, I'm not saying there's anything necessarily wrong with being a sex pervert...live and let live.  But it's not exactly something you want on your resume, let alone your face.

Call me bourgeois, but I don't think this is the sort of thing that anyone should be encouraging.  This is just gross.

Oaklandscapes

A Strange Mantra

Last night I was walking through Ogawa Plaza, on my way to get cigarettes and Indian food, when a short, stocky, elderly Asian lady with a wizened face beckoned to me.  Ordinarily I don’t stop for strangers on the street, but this woman seemed harmless enough, and she was interesting too.  She wore a funny cylindrical hat and colorful clothes of coarse wool, like maybe she was a yakherd from someplace super exotic, like maybe Bhutan or some place like that.  So I stopped to talk.

She asked me, “Can you say ’NAH-moo’?”

And so I said, “NAH-moo.”

She nodded slowly, with measured approval.  She said, “Now say ‘AH-mee’.”

“AH-mee,” I said.

She again nodded.  “Tofu,” she said, it being understood that I was to repeat after her.

“Tofu,” I repeated.

“Good,” said the woman.  “NAH-moo.”

“NAH-moo,” I echoed.

“AH-mee.”

“AH-mee.”

“Tofu.”

“Tofu.”

“Okay,” said the Asian lady.

“Thanks,” I said, nodding before turning and walking away.

As I strode off, the woman called out from where she stood: “NAH-moo.”

“NAH-moo,” I called back, over my shoulder.

“AH-mee!” shouted the woman.

“AH-mee!” I shouted back.

“Tofu!” cried the woman.

“Tofu!” I cried back.

Then, as I walked on in silence, the woman, who now had begun following me, yelled sternly: “Keep saying it!”

I kept saying it.  “NAH-moo…AH-mee…tofu…NAH-moo…AH-mee…tofu….”

When I got to the corner at Broadway, I looked back to see if the woman was still monitoring me, but she was gone.  She had disappeared, like a dying wildflower’s loosed petals blown across the valleys by a Himalayan wind.

...out of the worm-hole, into the fire!

Dear Worm,

I’m guessing that a lot of people who write to you for advice are people whose sins and character flaws have gotten them into all sorts of trouble, betrayers and degenerates in hot messes of their own making.  Well, let me assure you that I am not like that.  I’m a good guy.

In fact, I have a pretty good life.  I’m a nice guy with a funny sense of humor that has made people laugh and I’m employed (albeit, underemployed) and my family isn’t particularly unloving or unsupportive.  I like to go to concerts and movies, and I enjoy good food and beer.  I especially like artisan cheeses.  I probably eat a ton of fancy cheese every year.  Like, literally, a ton…two thousand pounds.  Well, actually, I only eat about a pound of cheese a day, but that’s still like four hundred pounds a year.  Somebody once called me a “bon vivant” because I bought so much expensive cheese.

I’m in good shape, though, despite all of the cheese.  That’s ‘cause I power-walk.  I walk around the lake pretty much every other day.  Occasionally I do yoga.  I’d play tennis, too, if I knew anybody who wanted to play.

So “what’s the problem?,” right?  Well, it’s in the romance department, in the bedroom section to be precise, if you know what I mean.  I’ll bet you didn’t see that comin’, huh?   ; )

Actually, it’s not exactly romance that’s my problem.  I’m actually extremely romantic, and I really know how to charm the ladies.  (Also, I’m classically and ruggedly good-looking, which sure doesn’t hurt.  You know that actor, Jake Gyllenhaal?  I look a lot like him.)  Pitching sweet woo has always come naturally for me, and I can usually make a woman feel dreamy in about ten minutes.  I’m able to hypnotize a woman into an erotic languor in which all she wants is to feel my sensuous touch.  It’s like they turn into jelly.  I don’t mean “hypnotize” in a weird roofie way, of course, but in a still-conscious and fully consensual way.  Trust me, it can be very romantic.

No, my difficulties pertain more to the physical aspects of lovemaking.  Now don’t get me wrong here, I’m not impotent.  It’s nothing like that.  It’s my toes.

Over the last decade or so, I’ve had some sort of fungus infecting my toenails, both feet.  At least I assume it’s a fungus.  Nothing’s been confirmed by a medical doctor yet.  (I don’t have any health insurance, and I refuse to wait in line at the Berkeley Free Clinic…I’m pretty sure there aren’t any doctors there, anyway.)  I wouldn’t even call ‘em toenails any more.  They’re more like the material that I imagine a horn is made of, like a rhinoceros horn.  It doesn’t hurt or anything, but they sure are nasty-looking.

Anyway, it’s gotten so that I have to wear socks when I’m in bed gettin’ my sex on.  For a while there I could get away with just dimming the lights, but now it’s to the point where my partner would be able to feel something was wrong even if she couldn’t see the problem.  And the socks are no real solution either, not by a long shot.  Sometimes I wonder if the socks aren’t as much of a turn-off as the bare toenails would be.  I can tell you this: it’s a real trick to feel virile and robust while you’re explaining that you can't take off your socks because your feet are so cold.

So how can I get past this?  I feel like I’m a dynamite catch except for this one thing.  But this fungus is driving ten misshapen, discolored little wedges between me and the ladies.  But I can’t just let this obstacle shut down my love life, can I?  What can I do?

Btw, I think of myself as quite independent — a rugged individualist, if you will — and so it’s really hard for me to reach out and ask for help this way.  But I’m at my wits’ end, Worm.  I need answers!

Signed,

Fungus Upon Nails Got Ultra Yucky

ps.  I’m attaching some pics so that you’ll have a clearer idea of what I’m talking about.

The Worm sez: Wtf; is one of your parents a troll?  That’s fucking disgusting.  Here’s what you gotta do.  First, call 911 and tell them your toes are rotting off and you need medics to come get you right away.  Second, once you’re stabilized, google “obamacare berkeley” and call the first phone number you find.  Third, don’t ever send me any more photos again ever, not under any circumstances.  And know that there’s no shame in seeking help, FUNGUY, none at all.  It’s needing help in the first place that makes you a loser.  Doing without assistance won’t redeem you.

********************

So sayeth The Worm.

Gilligan’s Island Theme-Song Grievance

Location: Hollywood, CA, Offices of Sherwood Schwartz
Time: early September, 1964
Characters: Sherwood Schwartz’s secretary [voice only], Sherwood Schwartz (producer), Russell Johnson (actor), and Dawn Wells (actor)

TV producer and creator, Schwartz, paces his office and nervously sips Scotch.  He returns his glass to his liquor cabinet and closes its doors, and then he goes to his desk and pushes a button on his intercom. [buzzing sound]

Secretary [offstage]: Thank you for waiting.  Mr. Schwartz will see you now.

Johnson and Wells enter Schwartz’s office and close the door behind them.

Schwartz [walking out from behind his desk and toward four chairs placed around a coffee table, gesturing for Johnson and Wells to come join him, which they do]: Hi, guys!  Come, sit.  What can I do ya for?  Want a drink?

Johnson: No, thanks.

Wells: This isn’t a social call.

They all sit, Johnson and Wells next to each other and across from Schwartz.

Schwartz: So what can I do for you?  Jack said he thought you were coming, but he didn’t say why.

Johnson: George played us the theme song this morning.  We were very disappointed.  Why do you think that is, Sherwood?

Schwartz: C’mon, guys.  I know how you feel, but it’s a 60-second song.  We can’t squeeze everything into the opening credits.  At first we were gonna just mention Gilligan and the skipper, not even the Howells, but we realized that we needed Ginger in there for the sex appeal…

Wells: Fuck you, Sherwood.

Schwartz: You know what I mean, Dawn.  You’re just as sexy as Tina, obviously…why do you think we’re parading you around in hot pants all the time?  But Tina’s character has all the glamour…it’s a different kind of appeal…resonates with the females as much as the males.  You know that.

Wells: Whatever.  I was Ms. Nevada.

Schwartz: You are a lovely, lovely woman, Dawn.

Wells: I know a thing or two about glamour.

Schwartz: Be that as it may, the focus groups love movie stars, so we needed Tina in the mix.  And the Howells were easy.  [to GI melody] “The billionaire and his wife.”  Four words and they’re both covered.  That’s all you need to know.  [turning to face Johnson] Nobody cares how Howell made his millions, so we don’t have to explain that he’s an oil tycoon or a financier or whatever.  And his wife is his wife.  But if we say “the professor” then people are gonna wonder what sort of professor you might be.  Are you a philosopher, a jurisprudential scholar, a Shakespearean scholar, what?  We want you to be a professor in, like, all of the sciences, but we can’t explain that…we don’t even want to explain that.  [turning to Wells]  And, Dawn, how could we explain Mary Ann?  If we introduce you as “Mary Ann” it doesn’t speak to the role…so you’re a woman named Mary Ann…big deal.  Tina’s “the movie star,” which is clearly a good thing.  But we couldn’t very well call you “the farm girl.”  We’d have to explain that you were the sweet, upbeat, pretty farm girl, and that you weren’t just some country bumpkin.  We just couldn’t squeeze all of that into 60 seconds.

Johnson: Five words.

Schwartz and Wells: what?

Johnson: You said “the billionaire and his wife” were four words.  It’s five words.

Schwartz: Okay, five words, then.  I play a little fast, a little loose, you know me.  My point remains, though, right?

Wells: Why weren’t we ever consulted when you were producing the theme?

Schwartz: So you wanna write theme songs now?

Wells: Maybe we should, since your team obviously can’t handle it.

Schwartz: Again, Dawn, you can’t fit everything into a 60-second song!

Johnson: Nonsense.  Dawn fixed it in the cab coming over here.  It took her about 45 seconds.  Dawn, how did it go?

Wells: [to new GI melody] “the professor and Mary Ann here on Gilligan’s isle.”  Instead of [to old GI melody] “and the rest are here on Gilligan’s isle,” it’s [to new GI melody] “the professor and Mary Ann here on Gilligan’s isle.”

Schwartz: You just stretched it out, though.

Johnson: No! That’s the beauty.  The [to old GI melody] “are here on Gilligan’s isle” part of the version that George played us is already so stretched out that you can fit [to new GI melody] “the professor and Mary Ann” in without disrupting the meter.  You just lose the word “are,” which was grammatically incorrect anyway.  And the song’s lyrics as they are now linger on too long anyway.  By adding Dawn and I to the list of castaways, you'll fix the song!  And [to new GI melody] “the professor and” and [to new GI melody] “Mary Ann” even rhyme…it’s perfect!

Schwartz [after pausing and rubbing his eyes with his palms as if to refresh his mind but really to hide his angry shame]: But we’re back to the problem of what kind of professor, right?  And who the heck is “Mary Ann”?

Johnson [sighing exasperatedly, then snapping into an encouraging tone]: Like you said, I’m a generic professor!  I’m just “the professor.”  The viewer will soon realize that I’m a generalist in the hard sciences and that I dabble in the soft sciences.

Wells: And who the fuck is “Gilligan”?  If the viewer needs to know who Mary Ann is, doesn’t the viewer need to know who Gilligan is?

Schwartz: They do!  He’s the “mighty sailing man” who works for the brave and sure skipper.

Wells: Well, the lyrics also say “five passengers” in addition to Gilligan and the skipper.  “Five.”

Schwartz: Yeah.  Hence the “and the rest…”.

Johnson: Listen, guys, this isn’t about how comprehensively or precisely the theme song introduces the show and the characters.  This is about billing.  Dawn and I are being under-billed in the opening credits and there’s no good reason for it.  We’re as integral to this show as everyone else.  Dawn and I get as many lines as Jim and Natalie do.  By the way, when they sing [to old GI melody] “and the rest” and you put our photos and names up, is it going to say “as The Professor” and “as Mary Ann”?  

Schwartz [after squeezing his temples, thinking]: Right!  That’s the important part!  Your roles are all equally important, but we just couldn’t fit everyone into the theme song.

Johnson [highly exasperated]: But we just solved that problem for you!

Schwartz [reluctantly]: The song is already in the can.  There’s no budget and no time to go back into the studio.  CBS wanted the song a month ago.

Johnson: So you’re going to fuck us over ‘cause you don’t want to pay for an extra studio session?!  What is that, like, five guys and six hours?!

Schwartz: There are more engineers to pay than there are musicians to pay.  And a new song would take at least two days.  There's no time.

Johnson: Look, Sherwood, I put my career on the line for this project.  I’ve done Hitchcock.  I had a Twilight Zone!  I’m taking a real risk with this, even if I am the straight man.  My career as a dramatist could be over.  Now, the money’s good…I’m here ‘cause of the money and I got no complaints in that department.  But when I get freezed out of the credits, it’s like a signal to everyone that my career is on the decline….”

Wells [standing, to Johnson]: This is bullshit, Russell.  Let’s get out of here.  [to Schwartz]  It’s not just the theme song that’s in the can, Sherwood, it’s most of a season.  Without your farm girl and your professor, you got shit.  It’s too late to change things up now.  But just ‘cause you can’t fire us doesn’t mean that we can’t quit.  Now my agent and my lawyer are talking about this right now, but I don’t really give a shit what they say.  I’m not shooting another episode until that theme song’s fixed.

Wells stands up, nods sharply to Schwartz as an ironic display of respect, and walks to the door.

Johnson [getting up from his chair to follow Wells]: I feel the same way, Sherwood.

Wells and Johnson exit Schwartz’s office and close the door behind them.

Schwartz [still seated]: Aghhh!  [pauses, then resumes tantrum]  Fuck, fuck, fuck!  [gets up, walks over to desk, sits at desk and buzzes secretary via intercom]  Call Marty at legal.  Tell him I want him and every shyster he’s got in my conference room tomorrow at…11.  No, 10.

Secretary: Is everything okay?

Schwartz:  Yeah…just a coupla actors gettin’ too big for their britches.

Secretary: You want some company?

Schwartz: No, not now.  Thanks, baby.  [pushes button to end call, then taps fingers on edge of desk to keep tempo and comparatively hums relevant portions of old GI theme song and new GI theme song]  Fuck! [stands up and walks to the liquor cabinet and opens its doors]  Duh. [end of scene]

A Very Krampus Christmas

Happy holidays to all!  Let us take this season of fellowship as an opportunity to remember that even the worst among us – the kidnappers, the torturers, the child killers, the cannibals, the reprobates of every stripe – need love and can be loved and can be redeemed by love.